Our Friend Ralph

He was a large man. When you’re nine years old everyone seems so much bigger than you, but he really was. Well over six feet tall and full bodied. He had a pleasant, billowy laugh. It was gentle and easy. Never loud…it just flowed with a sincerity that still echoes in my mind.  

He visited my Mom at our store regularly. He smiled as he called out her name with a warm hello.  He always wore a big, manly coat in the winter. It was corduroy with a wooly collar…his flannel shirt buttoned up to his neck, peeked out just a bit. His dark work pants just barely reached the top of his laced up work boots. He wore a thick beanie hat. His glasses fogged from the cold winter air.  

He knew just what to do. He walked slowly to the back stockroom to get a broom. His worn out work boots shuffled along the narrow hallway. He seemed to like sweeping. The broom gliding across the linoleum tiles with a quiet ease. He smiled, taking pride in his work.  

“Ralph, would you mind shoveling the front sidewalk?” my Mom asked as she readied the front counter for the day. “I’ll get right on it, my Nancy,” he replied.  

My Nancy.  

She was important to him. She listened to his stories. It was mostly one or two….told over and over. Yet she paid attention as if it was the first time she heard it. His voice was deep and warm…somewhat captivating. She listened.  And he smiled.

She never saw him as a grown man with the mind of a child. She saw the kindness of his heart and his need to feel the satisfaction of a job well done. She always had chores for him to do. Boxes to take out, floors to sweep, sidewalks to shovel. And when he finished he would always walk up and lean on the counter.  

“Well, I guess that wraps it up for today”, he’d say. Mom would “pay” him with lunch from the diner two doors down, or some snacks to take back to his room for later. He always acted surprised that she gave him something. And he smiled.

Ralph lived in a state funded home for men. No money, no family. His mind was that of a child…his heart was that of pure gold. When he missed several days at the store, Mom called the home to check on him. Though in her heart she already knew, they confirmed that Ralph had passed away. She sat down and wept. He wasn’t the only one that looked forward to his visits in our store.

I was nine years old. That gentle giant left a mark on my life. And I want to be like him and even more so like my Mom. Perhaps they were birds of a feather.  

The kindest of souls…the purest of hearts. And I smile.