Not that kind of recycling. A different kind. This is a post that I started writing about four years ago. If you’re a reader who has been with me that long then this will be a familiar reading. If you’re new, welcome! So glad you could make it. 

The series of these posts was The Allen Series and this is a true story. 

Part I : Huck Finn All Grown Up

When I first met Allen I was wary of him because of his appearance. Since we became friends I’ve often described him to people who wanted to know who this oddity was. This is what I say: He’s in his 60s, has a full beard, bushy white hair, a few missing teeth, and thick glasses that are probably fifteen years out of fashion. His ensemble is complete by black tennis shoes and overalls. He probably weighs about 130 pounds soaking wet because I’m sure that bushy beard and hair can hold a good 10 pounds. I’d seen him on my way out the door of school several times. Only a “hi” or “goodnight” ever left my lips as I passed him when I walked out to my car. 

Mid school-year I decided it was easier to grade papers late into the evening in my classroom rather than take them home where a toddler and two school age children resided. My husband always supported me in this because if I did work at home other things would distract me and I could never get caught up with grades. It was one such evening that I stayed so late that Allen had made his way down to my classroom to clean the boards, vaccuum, and empty the trash. In my mind I recall thinking about how he looked what Huckleberry Finn would look like all grown up. He looked like a man who had a hard life. Never without his broom or a pack of cigarettes. I glanced up and said a quick hello before concentrating back on the papers on my desk. “Please don’t talk to me. Please leave me alone,” I thought. He came in and worked for a bit before making a motion to have a conversation. I knew it was coming and in my mind was wishing him away. I didn’t feel like small talk tonight. It was already past 7:00 pm and I had too much to do. Plus, look at this guy! He was a janitor and I was a teacher and what could we possibly discuss?

He spoke first. “Do you know which of the teachers is the one who is teaching the Holocaust and Anne Frank?” This was his opener? He wants to know about WWII stuff that’s been up in my classroom? He must have seen my notes on the chalkboard “Yeah. That would be me. My 8th graders are reading it right now. Why do you ask?” He told me that he had always liked history and spent some time visiting the museum dedicated to her in Amsterdam. Immediately I dropped my pen on the desk and looked over at him. Had this man actually been to Europe? This old janitor who emptied my trash daily? I was all at once jealous, intrigued, confused. “When did you go there?” Even as I said it I knew that the emphasis on “you” was too great and I betrayed my thoughts to him. He just sighed a little and answered, “When I was studying at the University of Leeds. I visited most of Europe in the early sixties.” 

Our conversation lasted another 2 hours. Slowly, I began to be drawn in to the tale of his life. His love of crows, his disdain for one of my favorite characters (Atticus Finch – gasp!) and his colorful life that led him to his current position. Our talk was all over the map. We talked about everything and nothing had any particular flow to it, but we kept up together. He wasn’t just smart. He wasn’t just intelligent. He was incredible to a degree that even as I conversed with him I knew he was a once in a lifetime kind of person. I spoke slowly, thought deeply, and tried to make this time last with him. Deliberately, I knew this needed to be impressed on my brain so I played everything in slow motion. But it was time to leave. My whole face smiled as we said goodnight and as I extended my hand to shake his he took it, kissed it and told me it was a pleasure talking to me. The janitor told me it was a pleasure. I was hooked.

The next day this note was on my desk:
I filled out the questionnaire you gave your students. Is that ok? It’s under your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Do like that book? You realize that Atticus isn’t the character he purports to be, right?
Allen

to be continued
 

©Mocha Momma