There's a story about a class of med students who are taking the final exam in a class where everything matters, as I presume is often true in med school.
In the story, the student-doctors study and study in anticipation of any combination of question. On test day, they are surprised to find there is one question on the test. One and only one. All of their medical knowledge comes down to a pass or fail.
What is the name of the woman who cleans this building?
In a pass-fail moment, the professor teaches the students that apart from science, book knowledge, and the ability to diagnose anything from a mile away, it's important to realize that beating hearts belong to people.
Doctors who forget that there are people behind every symptom are professionals who may become widely admired and deeply disliked.
Know people. Know their names.
This weekend, I received an email from the principal of my children's school. She wrote to alert the parent community of the sudden and tragic death of "Mr. Don," the school's custodian and grounds manager. Don was young and healthy, as far as we could tell, and there are no explanations yet for how he died.
Which is sometimes how it goes.
In an elementary school, as in any other social environment, there is an unspoken stratification system. The principal is at the top, of course, and everyone falls into place beneath that supreme authority. It's perhaps easy to assume that the janitor, custodian, or grounds manager falls further down the list.
But any teacher will tell you that the person who keeps the building in order is one whom you want to befriend. When the thermostat in your classroom is on the fritz, when a ceiling light is strobing, or - travesty of all - when a child erupts with vomit during flu season, you learn all too quickly whom you cannot function without.
In one of my many comings and goings into the boys' school, Mr. Don stopped me as he cleaned the windows in the entryway. He said, "I want you to know, your son is very proud of you. In the cafeteria yesterday, he told me he thinks you are as beautiful as a princess. I thought you should know."
This morning when I took my children to school, when we saw someone else shoveling snow from the path and sprinkling salt, one of the boys whispered, "That used to be Mr. Don."
Indeed it was.
Mr. Don, we knew your name. You mattered to us. And we are thankful.
Thank you for writing this about Don. Don was my neighbor and will be missed. I will forward to his wife who I think will appreciate your kind words.
Great post!! Reminds me of a time when I was briefly unemployed through no fault of my own and landed a job at the local police dept. The other women there treated me horribly. No one talked to me, asked me about my kids, husband, life...there was much cattiness and pettiness and, needless to say, I HATED it and lasted all of 18 days. Upon my exit, I sent a letter to the HR Dept and cc'd the police chief and "leader of the catty women" letting them know what went on while I was there. At the end of my letter, I made sure to mention how GREAT the custodian was and to tell him Thank You from me for bringing me coffee, chatting with me on occasion, and being the one bright spot in my otherwise very dreary days there. 🙂
I am so sorry to hear of this loss and that your boys knew him.
Wow. this is another good one!!! Wow. Go Mr. Don. He sounds like he was a boss!
Which is sometimes how it goes.
Thank you for the touching tribute. I shared this on my FB page for my AWE friends....I hope you don't mind!
So sorry to hear your sons' school lost such an important member of their community. It sounds like Mr. Don was much loved. I will always remember how much I loved my own elementary school custodian, Mr. Ennis.
That's why I loved my old scbool.There was a culture of appreciation for all.