Ted Strollo always had a hint of sadness in his eyes.
Life had not been easy for him. A master wood carver, he emigrated from Italy to the United States after World War II. He had no family and no connections.
Odd jobs followed, along with ragtag apartments and missed opportunities. The years limped by. Then one day, when Ted gazed in the mirror, he found an old man staring back at him.
Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man. —Leon Trotsky
Work dried up, and Ted found himself homeless. He built a shack in the woods of Northern California, where he drank homemade acorn coffee and ate whatever he could find.
A hard truth about life is that just when you think things can’t get worse, they sometimes do.
Ted crossed a street in downtown Los Gatos, California, and was struck by a speeding vehicle. He was thrown nearly twenty feet, much to the horror of on-lookers. One person who witnessed the accident was my father.
Dad ran to help, holding Ted’s hand and encouraging him.
An ambulance arrived, and Ted was taken to the hospital. Dad provided a statement for the police, who informed him that Ted was a local homeless man.
For many, that would have been the end of a good deed. But my father went a step further. He drove to the hospital to check on Ted. He was able to visit with Ted in his hospital room.
It was the start of a long friendship.
There is no exercise better for the heart
The holidays were just around the corner and I was busy running errands.
I was downtown shopping when I passed an elderly man on the street wearing an old fedora. He was the spitting image of Ted Strollo. So much so that I did a double take, but by then he’d disappeared in the crowd.
I ducked into a coffee shop, ordered a latte, and sat down for a moment with my memories.
I’ve always associated Ted Strollo with Christmastime. Because every Christmas, after our family breakfasted and excitedly opened our presents, Dad would grab his jacket and say to me, “Are you coming, Johnny?”
I never really felt like going.
When you’re a kid, driving across town with your father on Christmas day to visit an old man in a one-bedroom apartment isn’t as exciting as staying home with your new toys.
But I always went.
Because I knew it was important to my Dad. I sensed he was teaching me something about sacrifice, kindness, and character.
There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up. — John Holmes, author of “The Longest War”
After Ted’s accident, my father and mother took him in for a month of convalescence.And then my father, who was an attorney, applied for unemployment benefits for Ted, and found him a small apartment in town.
From then on, every Christmas, Dad and I would knock on Ted’s apartment door, bearing an assortment of simple gifts.Ted loved the Italian Stella D’oro cookies and wool socks, but most of all, he relished our companionship.
The sadness in Ted’s eyes would go away for a while.
Being able truly to care about other people
My father passed away in 2004.
Not a day passes that I fail to think about him, and all the lessons he taught me. Lessons that came through actions more than words. Lessons about helping others. Showing consideration and kindness.
These lessons have resided in my soul for a long time.
Perhaps that’s why I became a peace officer. I found great pleasure in helping people. From stranded motorists and crime victims to lost children and confused seniors, my career allowed me to act on the consideration and kindness my father taught me.
The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. —David Foster Wallace, This Is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life
The old man I saw downtown recently, wearing a fedora, was probably just a stranger passing by. A serendipitous coincidence.
But then again, maybe it was the spirit of Ted Strollo. Maybe he appeared to remind me that the greatest thing we can do on this earth is care about other people.
After all, that was my father’s Christmas lesson.
When we truly care about other people and sacrifice for them, we make God smile. We free our souls to dance at Christmastime and all the other days of the year.
We make the world a better place.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. If you enjoyed this piece, check out my free weekend newsletter, The Saturday Letters.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
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