The Good Samaritan
Jeffrey Lee Williams

 


“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”

Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), 'Pro Plancio,' 54 B.C.


Kenneth Kidman, or Kenny as he was known to his family and friends, believed in karma, both good and bad. He believed that good things happened to people who did good deeds for others without an ulterior motive. Kenny had been labeled a goody two shoes since his childhood days growing up in his tight-knit, middle class neighborhood in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

Kenny was a retired welder. After he retired, Kenny decided that he would become an active member of his community, taking part in church functions, blood, food and clothing drives, bake sales and many other community projects including helping to build a soup kitchen/charity center for homeless women and children. He was always willing to help his fellow man.

Kenny's wife Dorethea had been ill for three years before she died last year of complications with pneumonia and very premature Alzheimer’s at the age of fifty-nine. Kenny’s life had become full of the same routine, while simultaneously remaining full and fulfilling.

He made weekly trips to the market for bread, sugar, fruit and vegetables, making usual stops to his former co-worker, eighty three year old Judith who was all but confined to her home due to chronic back pain. Doing things for his house ridden friend made Kenny feel useful, needed and appreciated. It returned feelings he hadn't felt since the death of his wife from Alzheimer’s.

Kenny and his late wife had never had any children, so he tried to fill the void in his life with giving to others in any way he could. On one of his many trips to the market for himself and his friend, Kenny saw a wallet on the ground that appeared to have been dropped accidentally. He picked up the wallet and noticed that though it was a man's wallet it had the contents of a female. It also had a faint smell of Chanel Number Five, the perfume of choice for his late wife Dorethea. The smell rekindled old feeling for her. He even shed a couple tears.

The wallet belonged to Fran McAllister-Langford. She didn't have much in there but dozens of coupons for various items, your average this or that; she also had her New York State Identification Card, two credit cards a benefit card and two crisp one dollar bills. He knew from its contents that no one had found the wallet before he had simply because it still held the woman’s contents in it.

Kenny knew exactly what he had to do.

Fran lived a quite life in Forest Hills, Queens. Her home was located approximately thirty-five to forty-five minutes away from Kenny's house in Brooklyn. Though his car didn't have much gas, the weather was horrible and he really wasn't feeling very well that day, fifty-seven year old Kenny knew that he had to deliver the wallet to the rightful owner.

Without giving it a second thought, bad weather notwithstanding, Kenny filled up his seventeen year old Buick Skylark with his last twenty dollars and made his way to the Belt Parkway which was covered in snow and started on his way heading towards Queens. He was coughing up a lung due to the unusually cold weather but when he thought of the joy he'd bring to the face of Fran when he returns the wallet, it gave him what he needed to press on.

It had been the coldest day that winter. There was at least three feet of snow on the ground. It was so cold in his car his hot cup of coffee latte was cold within ten minutes, faster than usual considering how hot he preferred his coffee. As most Brooklyn-born New Yorkers were confused by Queens, so to was Kenny. He was a bit confused by the avenues and streets in Queens that went by the same name. Not wanting to waste too much time and very costly gas, Kenny finally stopped off at a Shell gas station to obtain directions.

The attendant spoke in a very heavy Indian accent, which made following the directions all the more difficult, but he was able to clearly understand that he was twenty minutes away from Fran's address due to making several wrong turns before asking for assistance. Kenny bought another piping hot cup of coffee, plunked down five more dollars in gas and headed back on his way.

The heavy, unforgiving storm was no deterrent for Mr. Kidman. He had a job to do. On the Belt Parkway, the storm began to fall heavily. The windshield wipers on his weathered and torn Buick Skylark were no match for the onslaught of the snow. The snow storm made his distance seem even further and the brisk, bone chilling wind made the Good Samaritan feel that he was freezing from the inside out. The heating system in his car was on the fritz having been through several brisk winters without fail, this time it had finally died on him. His breath was warmer than his heat.

Just three to four exits away from his destination, the car started to show signs of weakness. There was a hard thumping that rapidly increased with every succession. Then the unthinkable happened. Approximately one mile away from his exit, Kenny’s car completely shut down. “This is unreal.” He said to himself in utter disbelief at what had just happened.

“This is just another obstacle I’ll overcome.” Kenny said reassuringly.

He put the hazards on, applied the club anti-theft device on the steering wheel, locked up the car and walked the rest of the way to the home of Mrs. McAllister-Langford. Hopefully his car would be safe until he got to her home and was able to make a phone call to a tow truck.

The snow was blinding. It was falling at high speeds, thick and heavy limiting his sight distance considerably. Turning up the collar of his heavy wool coat, Kenny happened upon a man asking for directions unable to see where he was going.

“I’m sorry; I have no idea where I am myself, sir.” Kenny said to the questioning stranger.

“It’s OK man. Hey, by the way, give me all your money and we’ll call it even.” He demanded.

“What? Is this a joke?” He asked.

But the man wasn’t joking. Kenny was flabbergasted. How could doing a good deed return such bad luck? Kenny was thrown to the ground where he was embedded in the snow. The mugger took Kenny’s coat and shoes. He stole his car keys, his wallet and his reading glasses. He started to believe the old adage that “no good deed goes unpunished.”

The only thing that was salvaged was the wallet belonging to Mrs. Fran Meade. As Kenny watched the mugger disappear into the night snow.

With all his bad luck notwithstanding, Kenny pressed on. He was just a mere block or two away from his destination and was only facing the possibility that no one was home, leaving him cold, hungry, broke and stranded in Queens.

Though nearly blinded by the thick fall of snow, Kenny saw the address just ahead. It was within reach. He could almost reach out and touch it as he turned the corner to her home. On her doorstep, Kenny rang the doorbell and collapsed onto the salty stoop. The door crept open and Fran noticed instantly who it was.

“Kenneth Kidman, is that you?” Fran asked as she stood looking at the tired man while tightening the strap on her warm pink wool robe with a “Hilary for President” sticker on it.

Brushing back her long reddish-brown hair, she bent over to pick up the beaten gentleman and pulled him inside her home and laid his wet and cold body on the floor. It was the recently widowed Fran Meade, formally Fran Langford, Kenny’s old high school sweetheart.

Kenny looked up and said that he went through Hell and high water to return the wallet to its rightful owner. He didn’t recognize the woman in the license because it belonged to her mother Fran McAllister-Langford. Though the name was vaguely recognizable to Kenny, he never put two and two together. It had been decades.

Kenny started to weep at the reconnection with his long lost high school sweetheart. He never thought he’d see her again after their graduation nearly forty years ago. “Fran, I cannot believe it is you. I don’t know what to say. I came here to return this lost wallet. This has all paid off! I was all worth it now! He exclaimed with merriment.

“You came all the way here, in this treacherous weather without a proper coat, to return a wallet with nothing in it?” Fran asked with confusion and a hint of condescending sarcasm.

Looking deep into Kenny’s weary and watering eyes, Fran smiled lovingly and said, “You went through all this Hell to return two dollars to someone you believed to be a total stranger. You’re crazy! I knew there was a reason I broke up with you.”

She callously took the cash and shut the door, leaving Kenny on the ground.

End

 

 

Copyright © 2007 Jeffrey Lee Williams
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"