The thoughtfulness, empathy and love of this convenience store manager demonstrates vividly that people remember more how much an employer cares than how much the employer pays. An important lesson for the price of a Little League baseball glove.
Rick Phillips
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Climbing the Stairway to Heaven
No one can deal with the hearts of men unless he has the sympathy which is given by love.
Henry Ward Beecher
Throughout my career in sales, I've wondered about difficult customers. What makes them so mean? How can they be so unkind? How can a perfectly rational person suddenly lose all sense of human decency?
One day, I had an insight into their thinking. It happened while visiting my husband's music store. He was working with a customer and we were short-handed. So I did what every good wife would do: I tried to wait on customers.
"I'm looking for music," said a gnarled man, a soiled John Deere cap pulled down tightly over his thinning gray hair. "The name of the song is ...' and he uncrumpled a grimy sheet of mimeographed paper from his jeans pocket, "'Stairway to Heaven.' Do you have it?''
I stepped to the wall displays of sheet music and scanned for the name. On a good day, the music filled slots in alphabetical order. On this day, the alphabet
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skipped around. I searched for several minutes, conscious of his growing restlessness.
"No, I'm sorry but it doesn't look like it's here."
His back arched and his watery blue eyes narrowed. Almost imperceptibly, his wife touched his sleeve as if to draw him back. His narrow mouth twisted in anger.
"Well, ain't that just grand. You call yourself a music store? What kind of a store doesn't have music like that? All the kids know that song!" he spluttered.
"Yes, but we don't carry every piece of music ever ...'
"Oh, easy for you! Easy to give excuses!" Now his wife was pawing at his sleeve, murmuring, trying to calm him the way a groom talks to a horse gone wild.
He leaned in to me, pointing a knotty finger at my face. "I guess you wouldn't understand, would you? You don't care about my boy dying! About him smashing up his Camaro into that old tree. About them playing his favorite song at his funeral, and he's dead! He's gone! Only 18 and he's gone!"
The paper he waved at me came into focus. It was the program for a memorial service.
"I guess you wouldn't understand," he mumbled. He bent his head. His wife put her arm around him and stood quietly by his side.
"I can't understand your loss," I said quietly, "but we buried my four-year-old nephew last month, and I know how bad that hurts."
He looked up at me. The anger slid from his face, and he sighed. "It's a shame, ain't it? A dirty shame." We stood in silence for a long moment. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out a worn billfold. "Would you like to see a picture of our boy?"
Joanna Slan
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"Whatever You Need"
That which cometh from the heart goes to the heart.
Jeremiah Burroughs
I was working as a consultant in a beer company, helping the president and senior vice-presidents formulate and implement their new strategic vision. It was an enormous challenge.
At the same time, my mother was in the final stages of cancer.
I worked during the day and drove 40 miles home to be with her every night. It was tiring and stressful, but it was what I wanted to do. My commitment was to continue to do excellent consulting during the day, even though my evenings were very hard. I didn't want to bother the president with my situation, yet I felt someone at the company needed to know what was going on. So I told the vice-president of Human Resources, asking him not to share the information with anyone.
A few days later, the president called me into his office.
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I figured he wanted to talk to me about one of the many issues we were working on. When I entered, he asked me to sit down. He faced me from across his large desk, looked me in the eye and said, "I hear your mother is very ill."
I was totally caught by surprise and burst into tears. He just looked at me, let my crying subside, and then gently said a sentence I will never forget: "Whatever you need."
That was it. His understanding and his willingness to both let me be in my pain and to offer me everything were qualities of compassion that I carry with me to this day.
Martin Rutte
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All in a Day's Work
If I can ease one life the aching,or cool one pain, or help one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.
Emily Dickinson
He was admitted to emergency receiving and placed on the cardiac floor. Long hair, unshaven, dirty, dangerously obese, with a black motorcycle jacket tossed on the bottom shelf of the stretcher, he was an outsider to this sterile world of shining terrazzo floors, efficient uniformed professionals, and strict infection control procedures. Definitely an untouchable.
The nurses at the station looked wide-eyed as this mound of humanity was wheeled by, each glancing nervously at Bonnie, the head nurse. "Let this one not be mine to admit, bathe and tend to ...' was their pleading, unspoken message.
One of the true marks of a leader, a consummate
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professional is to do the unthinkable. To tackle the impossible. To touch the untouchable. It was Bonnie who said, "I want this patient myself." Highly unusual for a head nurseunconventionalbut the stuff out of which human spirits thrive, heal and soar.
As she donned her latex gloves and proceeded to bathe this huge, very unclean man, her heart almost broke. Where was his family? Who was his mother? What was he like as a little boy? She hummed quietly as she worked. It seemed to ease the fear and embarrassment she knew he must be feeling.
And then on a whim she said, "We don't have time for back rubs much in hospitals these days, but I bet one would really feel good. And it would help you relax your muscles and start to heal. That is what this place is all about ... a place to heal."
The thick, scaly, ruddy skin told a story of an abusive lifestyle: probably lots of addictive behavior with food, alcohol and drugs. As she rubbed those taut muscles, she hummed and prayed. Prayed for the soul of a little boy grown up, rejected by life's rudeness and striving for acceptance in a hard, hostile world.
The finale was warmed lotion and baby powder. Almost laughablesuch a contrast to this huge, foreign surface. As he rolled over onto his back, tears ran down his cheeks and his chin trembled. With amazingly beautiful brown eyes, he smiled and said in a quivering voice, "No one has touched me for years. Thank you. I am healing."
Naomi Rhode
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I Heard a Little Voice
It takes great courage to faithfully follow what we know to be true.
Sara E. Anderson
I was working with a young man who was in his early 30s and fairly close to death. His parents had come from out of town and were spending as much time as possible with him at the hospital. They had been with him for many hours and finally took a break to go out for dinner. While they were out, their son died. The parents were devastated, the man's mother in particular; not only had her son died, but he had died during her absence. She was obviously distressed and frequently rested her head on her son's chest and cried.
As I was standing with her, I distinctly heard a little voice in my head say, Suggest that she get up on the bed and hold him. My mind whizzed. How could I make such a suggestion? What if someone saw? What would people think? I tried to ignore the voice, hoping it would go away. Not so. Seconds later, the voice said in a louder, more insistent tone, She needs to get up on the bed and hold him!
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"Would you like to get up on the bed and hold him?" I heard myself ask. She all but leapt onto it. I remained with her while she held her son, stroked his face, talked with him and sang to him. Those moments with this moth
er and her son were some of the most exquisite moments of my life. I felt blessed that I was able to be with her while she said good-bye to her child.
Anne Walton
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The Christmas Man
When we quit thinking primarily about ourselves and our own self-preservation, we undergo a truly heroic transformation of consciousness.
Joseph Campbell
Last Christmas was a very difficult time for me. My family and all of my close friends were back home in Florida, and I was all alone in a rather cold California. I was working too many hours and became very sick.
I was working a double shift at the Southwest Airlines ticket counter, it was about 9:00 P.M. on Christmas Eve, and I was feeling really miserable inside. There were a few of us working and very few customers waiting to be helped. When it was time for me to call the next person to the counter, I looked out to see the sweetest-looking old man standing with a cane. He walked very slowly over to the counter and in the faintest voice told me that he had to go to New Orleans. I tried to explain to him that there were no more flights that night and that he would have to go in the morning. He looked so confused and very worried. I tried to
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find out more information by asking if he had a reservation or if he remembered when he was supposed to travel, but he seemed to become more confused with each question. He just kept saying, ''She said I have to go to New Orleans."
After much time, I was able to at least find out that this old man was dropped off at the curb on Christmas Eve by his sister-in-law and told to go to New Orleans, where he had family. She had given him some cash and told him just to go inside and buy a ticket. When I asked if he could come back tomorrow, he said that she was gone and that he had no place to stay. He then said he would wait at the airport until tomorrow. Naturally, I felt a little ashamed. Here I was feeling very sorry for myself about being alone on Christmas, when this angel named Clarence MacDonald was sent to me to remind me of what being alone really meant. It broke my heart.
Immediately, I told him we would get it all straightened out, and our Customer Service agent helped to book him a seat for the earliest flight the next morning. We gave him the senior citizens' fare, which gave him some extra money for traveling. About this time he started to look very tired, and when I stepped around the counter to ask him if he was all right, I saw that his leg was wrapped in a bandage. He had been standing on it that whole time, holding a plastic bag full of clothes.
I called for a wheelchair. When the wheelchair came, we all stepped around to help him in, and I noticed a small amount of blood on his bandage. I asked how he hurt his leg, and he said that he had just had bypass surgery and an artery was taken from his leg. Can you imagine? This man had had heart surgery, and then shortly afterward, was dropped off at the curb to buy a ticket with no reservation to fly to New Orleans, alone!
I never really had a situation like this, and I wasn't sure what I could do. I went back to ask my supervisors if we
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could find a place for him to stay. They both said yes, and they obtained a hotel voucher for Mr. MacDonald for one night and a meal ticket for dinner and breakfast. When I came back out, we got his plastic bag of clothes and cane together and gave the porter a tip to take him downstairs to wait for the airport shuttle. I bent down to explain the hotel, food and itinerary again to Mr. MacDonald, and then patted him on the arm and told him everything would be just fine.
As he left he said, "Thank you," bent his head and started to cry. I cried too. When I went back to thank my supervisor, she just smiled and said, "I love stories like that. He is your Christmas Man."
Rachel Dyer Montross
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His Life's Work
Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.
Rumi
When his wife died, the baby was two. They had six other childrenthree boys and three girls, ranging in age from 4 to 16.
A few days after he became a widower, the man's parents and his deceased wife's parents came to visit.
"We've been talking," they said, "about how to make this work. There's no way you can take care of all these children and work to make a living. So, we've arranged for each child to be placed with a different uncle and aunt. We're making sure that all of your children will be living right here in the neighborhood, so you can see them anytime ...'
"You have no idea how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness," the man responded. "But I want you to know," he smiled and continued, "if the children should interfere with my work, or if we should need any help, we'll let you know."
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Over the next few weeks the man worked with his children, assigning them chores and giving them responsibilities. The two older girls, aged 12 and 10, began to cook and do the laundry and household chores. The two older boys, 16 and 14, helped their father with his farming.
But then another blow. The man developed arthritis. His hands swelled, and he was unable to grip the handles of his farm tools. The children shouldered their loads well but the man could see that he would not be able to continue in this vein. He sold his farming equipment, moved the family to a small town and opened a small business.
The family was welcomed into the new neighborhood. The man's business flourished. He derived pleasure from seeing people and serving them. Word of his pleasant personality and excellent customer service began to spread. People came from far and wide to do business with him. And the children helped both at home and at work. Their father's pleasure in his work brought satisfaction to them, and he drew pleasure from their successes.
The children grew up and got married. Five of the seven went off to college, most after they were married. Each one paid his or her own way. The children's collegiate successes were a source of pride to the father. He had stopped at the sixth grade.
Then came grandchildren. No one enjoyed grandchildren more than this man. As they became toddlers, he invited them to his workplace and his small home. They brought each other great joy.
Finally, the youngest daughterthe baby, who had been two years old at her mother's deathgot married.
And the man, his life's work completed, died.
This man's work had been the lonely but joyful task of raising his family. This man was my father. I was the 16year-old, the oldest of seven.
Wyverne Flatt
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For the Love of My Father
Love conquers all things; let us too surrender to love.
Virgil
Over the years, I never thought of my father as being very emotional, and he never was, at least not in front of me. Even though he was 68 years old and only five-footnine, while I was six feet and 260 pounds, he seemed huge to me. I always saw him as being that staunch disciplinarian who rarely cracked a smile. My father never told me he loved me when I was a child, and I never held it against him. I think that all I really wanted was for my dad to be proud of me. In my youth, Mom always showered me with "I love you's' every day. So I really never thought about not hearing it from my dad. I guess deep down I knew that he loved me, he just never said it. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever told him that I loved him, either. I never really thought about it much until I faced the reality of death.
Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work 101 Stories of Courage Page 3