One Kind Act Lasts Forever

The first day at a new school is difficult for the most outgoing child, but for a shy girl like me, it was terrifying. The summer of 1958, my father began building a house on our farm north of Toledo. This was the farm where my parents lived when I was born. The farmhouse was old and in need of major repairs, so my parents bought a house and five acres near Neoga. We moved when I was around three years old. I started first grade there. My father was a farmer, but he also built crates for a radiator factory in Mattoon. Since it was a long drive back and forth to work each day, he decided we should live closer to his job. He sold the Neoga house and bought one in Mattoon. I started second grade there. Having lived his entire life in the country, Dad found he hated living in town. After a mere six months, he decided to build a house on the farm we still owned north of Toledo. Thus begins my third year of school.

Mom registered my brother and me a few days before school started. We were given a tour of the school and our classrooms. It was assumed we would then be able to take the bus on the first day of school, and find our rooms without Mom’s assistance. Mom assumed wrong.

The bus picked us up last because we lived closest to town. My brother got on the bus first and quickly found a seat with two other boys. I looked around. Each seat already had three kids, except one. I sat down. Everyone laughed. My seat mates were two high school boys. My face turned the color of a ripe summer tomato. My day wasn’t beginning as I had hoped.

Fortunately, the bus ride lasted under ten minutes. The bus came to a stop in front of Toledo Grade School, and the door opened. I quickly stood and made my way outside. Once my feet hit the sidewalk, I hurried to catch up to my brother. Another bus was unloading, causing me to lose him in the crowd. Inside the gymnasium, I stopped. I didn’t know which way to go.

The gym and hallways were empty of children. The bell rang. I was on the verge of tears when a man dressed in a work uniform got down on his knee and asked, “Do you need some help finding your room?”

I nodded through my tears.

His voice was kind and soothing, “What grade are you in?”

“Third.”

“Do you know your teacher’s name?”

“Mrs. Hill.”
He stood up and said, “Come on. I’ll take you to your room.”

And he did.

I grew up and moved away, but each time I remember my years at Toledo Grade School I think of my hero. Just as we never forget our heroes, I’ll never forget Johnny.

I’ve moved back to my hometown now, and occasionally see Johnny at the grocery store. I doubt he knows what an impact that one act of kindness had on me. Perhaps I should tell him.

Story ID:	5174
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Toledo IL USA
Year:	1958