A Quiet Job

Wednesday 06/01/05 12:26 AM | Category: Concentrations | Comment on this

I once enjoyed being a janitor. Not that I was excited about cleaning dirty toilets but it was a job where I was my own boss. I had the freedom to daydream while carrying out each task. I usually worked alone at night. It was different at the John George Home because residents were there all the time.

The building, which once served as the first hospital in Jackson, Michigan, became a home for men with special needs such as mental disabilities. At about 2:00 a.m., on my first night, I began cleaning the second floor bathroom. My thoughts were disrupted by the sound of someone coming down the hall. With dripping toilet brush in hand, I stepped into the hall and was met by a short stocky Hispanic man. He wore white clothes like a hospital orderly.

I asked if he needed the restroom; he just stared with a smile painted on his face. I inquired again and he said, “You don’t know who I am.” Standing just a foot away he made me nervous. Again, I asked what he wanted.

He said, “I don’t live here. You should be careful, anyone off the street can walk right in, just as I did.”

I realized I could be in danger when he added, “I could be a murderer.”

I don’t know where it came from, perhaps my survival gene, or the fact that my toilet brush would make poor weapon, but I looked stared back at him and said “You don’t know who I am either. Deranged murderers have jobs, like scrubbing toilets where they can be left alone. How do you know I’m not a murderer?”

The stranger said “Relax man, I was just kidding. I used to work here.”

He didn’t tell me why he was there and I knew I needed to get him out of there. I asked him to show me how got in. Walking to one of the exits he demonstrated how the residents placed a small stone in the door so it would only appear to be closed. They did this to sneak prostitutes into their rooms. Then, he said that he got in a different way, through the basement. Reluctantly, I asked him to show me. I didn’t take my eyes off of him as we passed through a dimly lit section of the basement, which was once the morgue—a good place for a murder, I thought.

He finally showed me where he came in but hesitated to leave. I kept giving him the “I could be a murderer too” look, so he complied. Immediately, I secured all the doors and windows. I continued to feel I was being watched. Relief came at sunrise when I went home. I never learned who he was or why he was there. The next day I told the management that I wouldn’t be back. I needed a job with less excitement, like a bomb defuser.

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A Slow Walker

Wednesday 06/01/05 12:22 AM | Category: Concentrations | Comment on this

I began attending Adult Education not knowing how it would impact my life. Bad memories of why I quit school at 16 were still haunting me. I had few friends and was often taunted by other students. My father’s passive answer was always to “turn the other cheek.” The Principal said he’d look the other way while I put those students in their place. I couldn’t do that and turn the other cheek, so I quit.

Six years later, I faced school again. It was amazing to go to class and enjoy it. I met people like me; they wanted to learn. Getting an education was changing who I was by changing my world-view. No matter the class, I couldn’t wait to learn something new.

My favorite teacher, Pat Reipma, who taught both Government and History, inspired me to work hard and to set goals. Learning was fun and although I was older than he was, I looked up to him with admiration.

Pat used the Jeopardy format to quiz us. He did such a good job of teaching that I knew all the answers. He’d ask a question and I’d raise my hand. After a few weeks, it was apparent that I was the only one answering the questions. In private he asked me to let the others answer first. It didn’t work; the result was no hands being raised. Typically, after a few moments the whole class would turn and look at me for the answer. Eventually, Pat made a rule that I wasn’t allowed to answer more than two questions in a row.

As graduation neared, Pat asked to speak with me. He asked “What are your plans after graduation?”

I answered “I don’t know, I guess I’ll look for a job.” Getting a job was my original motivation for returning to school.

Pat told me “I would like to see you go to college. It would be a waste if you didn’t. You’re smart … and I don’t think you realize your potential.”

“I never really thought about it. I wouldn’t know where to start,” I replied.

“I’ll help you with the paperwork. You can even get a job on campus.”

Later that week, the school director Ralph, said I’d be receiving an award for High Scholastic Achievement, and he asked me to speak at our graduation. I was terrified to speak in front of a big crowd but also wanted to conquer that fear. I lost my copy of that speech but recall the quotation of Abraham Lincoln that I used, “I’m a slow walker, but I never walk back.”

Each of us that day had our own story. Yet, we shared the fact that we finally did the right thing and earned our diplomas. I knew that from then on, I would set goals and continue until each was accomplished. It has been over 20 years since I stood before that crowd. I still walk slowly, but each step leads me forward.

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Gram’s Ride Home

Sunday 05/22/05 05:01 PM | Category: Concentrations

Long before Gram (my Grandmother) ended up in a rest home, I asked her if she remembered seeing Halley’s comet in 1910. She was 11 years old at the time but had no problem remembering it. I mentioned to her that Mark Twain once said “I came in with Halley’s Comet … and I expect to go out with it.” She was happy to share a glimpse of her childhood. Without hesitation she smiled with a twinkle in her eyes and said, “I think I will too.” Not understanding I asked what she meant. She said, “I’ll do the same.” She spoke as though she knew what would happen, yet she never mentioned this to anyone besides me. In awe, I smiled and nodded my head as if I understood but I didn’t.

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