Kindness remembered

When I was a child, pre-school in my area was not a lengthy period of indoctrination. It was one day near the end of the school year, and if your child would be entering first grade in the fall, he or she could attend school on “Pre-School Day,” presumably absorbing something of value. I had long wanted to go to school, so I could hardly wait. My mother prepared a lunch for me in a neat brown paper bag, just like my older siblings carried. Among its contents was a boiled egg, fresh from the pot on the stove, and I remember feeling its warmth through the paper when I held the bag up to my face. Then, in my excitement, I set the bag on the kitchen table and forgot it as I rushed out with my older brother and sister to meet the school bus.

The ride to school and whatever I did in whatever classroom I was in, probably a first grade one, faded entirely from my memory almost immediately. But I remember quite well escaping in mid-morning from wherever I was and wandering, frightened, down a strange hallway in search of my brother. I looked through the glass of several classroom doors before a teacher kindly opened one and invited me in. I headed for my brother, but a friend of his whom I’d never seen before motioned, and I joined him instead. I sensed his kindness and gentleness. He gave me a sheet of paper and a pencil and whispered that I should draw something.

I drew a lot at that age, mostly horses. We owned a pair of black mares, work horses, and I loved them and observed them daily. I carefully sketched a horse on the paper, working to get the proportions right and the features exact. I finished as the class was ending, and my new friend praised my work, not effusively and falsely, as adults so often do with children, but thoughtfully and quietly. He showed it to my brother, pointing out the details he thought were especially good. I thought it was a pretty good representation of a horse myself. What impressed me was not the approval of my drawing, but the apparently innate kindness of the approver.

Over the years, I sometimes saw and only occasionally exchanged a few words with him. He was unfailingly reserved but warm and courteous. He and my brother remained casual friends, though separated by several states. I never, as we grew to adulthood, he six years ahead of me, mentioned to him the Pre-School Day when I had shared his desk, the one event of the whole day that I’ve always remembered most clearly.

I remembered it especially when I learned last week that he had just died under unusually disturbing circumstances. A Charlotte television station reported that he had been moved to a hospital in that area after having been severely beaten by a much younger resident of the nursing home where he and his wife were both patients. The news report indicated that the alleged assailant was being charged with murder. So far I have not learned of any reason for the attack.

There was a significant outpouring of grief from the many people who knew him and his wife. They mentioned his devotion to his church, his love of music, and always his gentle nature and kindness toward others. I was not surprised by any of this. Most of the commenters were much younger than I. I could have told them that I knew the decent character of this man from my first encounter with him, 77 years ago, when he was a 12-year-old boy.

This story was originally published September 1, 2017 at 6:30 PM with the headline "Kindness remembered."