The Gentleman at Window Three

I was in no particular rush that Wednesday morning, standing in line at the post office in Bedford, Indiana. It’s a sleepy little town with limestone buildings and friendly faces, the kind of place where the postmaster still knows most folks by name. There were four people ahead of me, and the woman at the front was having a bit of a time locating the right zip code for a package she was sending to her niece in Arizona.

As the minutes ticked by, I noticed the man directly behind her shifting his weight and checking his watch. His face was tight with impatience, but when it came his turn, he smiled politely and even held the door for her on her way out.

When I reached the counter window three, I saw the clerk give the man a grateful look before turning to help me.

“You know,” she said while weighing my parcel, “that man there—he comes in every Wednesday, like clockwork. Usually drops off letters for someone in the nursing home.”

Curious, I watched him walk away, his brown coat just a shade too large for his frame.

Three days later, I saw him again, this time in the parking lot of the local grocery store. My cart had a bum wheel and was pulling hard to the left, and before I could wrestle it into submission, he stepped forward and offered a hand.

“These carts got minds of their own,” he chuckled.

We walked together for a minute, and he told me his name was Howard. We got to talking, and I asked about the nursing home letters. Turned out, his wife, Lillian, had passed two years ago, but she’d made friends with many of the other residents during her stay. Howard had kept in touch with them, writing notes, sending crossword puzzles, and even birthday cards.

“She always said a little kindness can carry someone a long way,” he told me.

That stuck with me.

Now, I always make an effort to smile, hold a door, say thank you—those little things that used to seem so small. Because you never know when you might be standing behind a gentleman like Howard at window three.