Blog #43 – The kindest man who ever lived…

On December 19, 2009, the kindest man who ever lived, my father, became yet another victim of cancer and departed this world. Therefore, in honor of his passing, I’m going to share a story about an incredible event in Dad’s childhood that he relayed to me when I was five years old.

Dad grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. When he was ten, his mother, Grandma Gracie, and dad, Grandpa James, his sister, Jenna, and brother, Thomas, and he were living in a very small apartment in a low-rent suburb near downtown.

Unfortunately, Grandpa James, whom the kids called Pop, was an alcoholic who frequently spent every dime he made on bourbon and beer. Naturally, Dad’s family lived on less than a shoestring budget, and they often didn’t have enough to eat. Some days, oatmeal for breakfast was their only meal.

Like most women in the 40s, Grandma Gracie didn’t work outside the house. There weren’t exactly a slew of jobs for women back then, anyway, except working for the phone company, or, perhaps, as a beautician. But Gracie did occasionally her sell fancy birthday cakes and pies to the people at St. Patrick’s Church. .

Anyway…when Dad was nine and a half, he had a paper route. He’d get up at 5:30 a.m., and deliver newspapers on his bike for two hours every day.. And sometimes in the winter, when it was 10 or 12 degrees outside, his hands would shake and turn a pale blue from the cold, despite wearing two pairs of gloves. Once in awhile, a neighbor would take pity on him and invite him in just to sit and defrost for a few minutes by their cast iron stove or something.

For all his toil, he received $5 every two weeks! Can you imagine a ten-year-old these days waking before dawn, working that hard, often in blizzard conditions, for such a pittance? I think not…

And what did Dad, whose name was Jonathan, by the way, do with his hard-earned cash? Unlike most kids, Dad was very frugal. He bought a new pair of shoes and a new pair of jeans when his got too many holes in them for Gracie to repair. Aside from that, he saved almost dollar of his first year’s salary to buy Christmas presents and to buy himself a new bike. His Schwinn was a hand-me-down from Thomas, and it was rather old and rusty.

Since Grandpa James was known to go tear up the house searching for Dad and Grandma Gracie’s hard-earned money to fund his booze habit, my Dad hid his money in a sock, which he stuffed inside a slit he’d cut on the underside of his mattress. Not much chance Grandpa James would find it there.

He’d found his future bike in the window of Higbees downtown, a window his family passed every Sunday going to and from church. He’d poured over the Sears catalog, browsed the local dime store, and Higbee’s as well, trying to find the PERFECT items for his family.

He decided on perfume for his mother, a pretty scarf for his sister, a model airplane for Thomas and a shiny silver cigarette lighter for his father. Yes, even something for his Pop who would’ve guzzled away all Dad’s wealth if the old drunk had found it.

Dad was so excited about his Christmas treasures and his new ten-speed that he couldn’t sleep the night before his last payday before Christmas. Whereupon he’d have enough cash to buy everything on his list.

However, that morning after collecting that magical paycheck, he was hurriedly wolfing down his oatmeal when an unexpected visitor came knocking.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith, but I can’t wait any longer. I hate to do this so close to Christmas, but I need $160, or I’ll, I’ll have to evict you.” said Mr. Petrovksy, the tall, gaunt landlord with the bushy, gray mustache. “Is Mr. Smith at home?”

“No, he’s at work.”

“I see. Well…” Mr. Petrovsky began but hesitated when my Dad, little Jonathan, appeared at Grandma Gracie’s side.

“And he doesn’t get paid until next week,” Gracie said, panic rising in her voice. “Can’t you wait a few more days? I’ve only got a couple of dollars, but you’re-”

“I’m afraid not, Ma’am,” Mr. Petrovsky said sadly. “You’re already two months behind-”

“But you can’t throw us out in the street? My three children, Mr. Petrovsky,” Gracie said, glancing down at my Dad. “Where are we supposed to go?”

“Mr. Petrovsky, would you accept $150, or maybe $148? Would that be enough until next week?” My dad asked.

With a look of wide-eyed shock, Mr. Petrovsky smiled. It was obvious, he didn’t know how to respond. “Um, yes, it would. But this is none of your concern, Jonathan.”

“Hold on,” Dad replied, “Please,” and Dad ZIPPED into the hallway toward his and Thomas’s room as fast as his long, skinny legs could propel him.

“What’s he doing, Mrs. Smith?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you telephone your husband at work, Mrs. Smith?”

“No, I-” Grandma began when my Dad appeared beside his mother again with a wide, euphoric smile on his face. “Here, Mr. Petrovsky,” Dad said, handing the landlord a ratty-looking sock.

Mr. Petrovsky face darkened, a glimmer of sadness in his dark eyes, “I’m sorry, son, but your dirty sock isn’t much in the way of currency. I-”

“No, no, look inside, please, that’s where I hide my money from Pop, so he won’t use it to buy liquor,” Dad said.

An embarrassed glow appeared on Grandma Gracie’s pale face. “Jonathan!” Gracie snapped. “Your father doesn’t, doesn’t do that,” She stammered as she watched Mr. Petrovsky dump a large bundle of cash out of the sock and into his hand.

Grandma Gracie gasped, “Where’d you get all that money, Jonathan?”

“From my paper route. I was going to buy a new bike and…but, please, Mr. Petrovsky, is that enough? I don’t want to be victed. That means we’ll have to move, right?”

Mr. Petrovsky eyes were drawn wide in surprise, and he merely stared at the boy. “Yes, it’s one hundred forty eight and…” his voice trailed off as he counted the change.

“Sorry that some of it is in quarters and dimes, but I spent a little here and there on candy,” Dad said grinning.

Mr. Petrovsky guffawed loudly as he ruffled Dad’s dark hair for a moment. “Well, you deserve all the candy you can afford, little man.”

Grandma Gracie stood staring open-mouthed at her son for a moment.  “But, Jonathan, I can’t. We can’t-that’s your money.”

“No, mother, it’s his money now,” my ten-year-old father replied gesturing to the landlord. “Excuse me, sir, I have to get my books and get to school now.”

Mr. Petrovsky winked at Dad, and dad disappeared into the house.

“Mr. Petrovsky, I -” Gracie asked, teary-eyed, and seemingly unable to finish her thoughts.

Ptrovsky nodded, shoving the wad of bills into his pocket, then handed her back the sock and said, “That’s some boy you’ve got there. You should be very proud.”

“I am, very proud. Thank you, Mr. Petrovsky,” Grandma Gracie said as a plume of tears washed down from her lashes. “I’ll talk to my husband and make sure you have the rest by the end of the week. You’ll stop by on Friday, then?”

Mr. Petrovsky nodded, but Gracie knew by the look in his eye, they wouldn’t see the landlord until next month, that Mr. Petrovsky understood the miracle that had just occurred when a 10-year-old boy saved his family from the streets. And Mr. Petrovsky didn’t feel the need to be greedy by demanding the remaining $10 – ever.

“Have a good day, now, and Merry Christmas!” Mr. Petrovsky called out as he started down the icy sidewalk toward his house across the street.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Petrovsky,” Grandma Gracie said.

Dad was completely unaware that he’d done the most important thing on earth, something he did until the day he died. He took care of his family, and there wasn’t a bike or scarf or model airplane anywhere in the world worth more than that…

And Merry Christmas to you all and with that GOOD NIGHT…

All the best,

KS/TenaciousB