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We called him Bozo.
He was tall and skinny and had several fingers missing. His Adam's apple stuck out of his thin neck and bobbed comically when he spoke. His face was a sun-weathered red and he wore thick, rimless, smoke-colored glasses. He had a silly grin. Though he was only there a year, of all the people who worked at the children's home where I grew up, I remember him as the kindest. I don't remember his real name, I just recall that he looked so funny, we referred to him as Bozo. Some of the kids called him Bozo to his face. He didn't seem to mind. One time a bunch of us were working in the woods clearing a site for a Boy Scout camp. As we picked up rocks, stacked brush, and removed vines and undergrowth, the main topic of conversation was why couldn't the Boy Scouts clear their own darn site. Suddenly a shout caught our attention. Bozo had discovered a large, hanging grapevine and was calling to us to help him pull it down. We stopped working and stared in amazement at this old man. (I realize now that he was around 50.) He had grabbed the grapevine and was swinging back and forth, an improbable Tarzan, calling for us to help him. In an instant our spell of astonishment was broken, and a mob of screaming, laughing boys climbed aboard, each of us hanging on for all we were worth. Like the pendulum of an impossibly large clock we made graceful and joyous sweeps. Finally, high up, a limb gave way, dumping us in a laughing pile. No one was laughing harder than Bozo. Because I was a kid, I didn't realize what Bozo did for us: he helped us lose a bit of that Peter Pan dread of growing up. He showed us that an adult could be spontaneous, could have fun, could be happy, could be kind. These things were possible even if we grew up to be funny looking. In Recondo School in the Army, the students had an unofficial award called the Wile E. Coyote, named for the ill-fated predator in the Road Runner cartoons. The Wile E. was awarded daily to whoever messed up the worst in training. Guys got the Wile E. for things like slipping off a rope bridge into freezing water or getting separated from their patrol during a reconnaissance. One day my fellow students gleefully gave me the award for telling the driver of a passing jeep that he was driving too fast. The driver screeched to a halt and backed up. To my dismay (and everyone else's delight), it was not a private driving the jeep; it was the Sergeant Major of the Recondo School.
It occurred to me that there should be a Wile E. Coyote type of award, not for goof-ups, but for kindness. I came up with one. I call it the Bozo Hanging Grapevine Award. The other day a clerk in a local store was particularly kind to me. Her friendly manner and pleasant smile made me feel great. At the door, I stopped and looked back at her. She was, with that same quiet cheerfulness, busily cashing up her next customer. I couldn't help but smile. "What a Bozo," I thought. |