"Those Sons of Bitches Think I'm Stupid!"

… So declared a groundskeeper who had “caught” me on my seminary campus, back in the early 1980s. He was expressing frustration with his superiors.

You know what I mean about being “caught” by certain people who love to talk. If you happen to encounter them amid your daily comings and goings, you might as well mentally devote yourself to five or ten minutes of monologue. There's a fellow who works at a filling station near my home who's like that. I’ve overheard him vent about unions, health care, the St. Louis Cardinals, and other topics as he talks to customers attempting to fill up.

My groundskeeper acquaintance was Al. If I ever knew his last name, I’ve forgotten it. Jean Shepherd writes humorously that certain authoritative people in the world have to-the-point names like Al or Mike: “He’s a born Al. And little Al, peering out of his crib with an embryonic smoky gaze of disdain, is launched into the world fully prepared to deal with the lesser fry.” [1] This fellow leaned on his rake and looked similarly at the world, although his intimidating gaze also had a distant element, like he was daydreaming about pleasant things beyond work.

I enjoyed chatting with him.... listening to him. He seemed to find me friendly. I think I told him some things about my family and background. I noticed that he cornered other students, too. One of my friends, now a distinguished biblical scholar, gave him a listening ear on several occasions.

One day Al showed me a picture of his wife. He watched my face and was pleased that I thought she was very pretty. He knew I was sincere not because of my words but my expression. He was clearly proud of his wife and proud to be married to a beautiful woman.

Eventually, I didn't see Al around my school anymore. As I drove back to campus from an errand one day, I noticed he was working at another of the university campuses. Had the "SOBs" transfered him? I assume so. I’m estimating that he was in his forties at the time, so he’d now be in his late sixties or thereabouts, if he's still with us.

I thought of him the other day when one of my BFFs sent me an inspirational email, the kind that make the online rounds. This message was “Five lessons about the way we treat people.” Among the lessons was the story of a conscientious student who was doing well on a pop quiz until s/he came to the question, “What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?” The student didn’t know the answer. Another student asked if that question would count toward their grade. The professor said, Yes! "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'hello.'"

I agree! That’s why I gave Thomas the janitor some Christmas candy last year, and also a baby gift for Katie the barista, and I said goodbye to Mary and John the grocery cashiers when my family and I moved last summer.

Of course, I’ve missed learning the names and stories of many folk over the years. But I do worry, quite seriously, that God will ask us similar questions when we stand before the Throne: “Did you give time to that man who was upset about his job? … Do you know the cleaning lady’s name?” (Matt. 25:31-46).
　
　
1. Jean Shepherd, “The Great Chicken-Clawed Chooser,” The Ferrari in the Bedroom (New York: Doubleday, 1987), p. 159.