[Ohio-Communities-of-Faith] FW: Folded Napkin and Stevie

Wed Nov 10 13:56:33 UTC 2021

From: Larry Perry [mailto:larryperry at performancepress.ccsend.com] On Behalf Of Larry Perry
Sent: Wednesday, November 10, 2021 8:11 AM
To: mmoore11 at kent.edu
Subject: EXT: Folded Napkin and Stevie

  <https://r20.rs6.net/on.jsp?ca=96657aec-0616-48b9-b299-db852f3098d2&a=1103316066373&c=6f49fc70-74b9-11eb-9d75-fa163e24df6a&ch=6f4b0606-74b9-11eb-9d75-fa163e24df6a> 

Letter from Larry

Wednesday

November 10, 2021

Good morning Everyone:

With Thanksgiving just around the corner I thought you could use today's

story is a reminder of all the things we are thankful for.

*******

The Folded Napkin - A Truck Stop Story"  

If this doesn't light your fire, your wood is wet!

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His 

placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable

busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee 

and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers 

would react to Stevie.

He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and

thick-tongued speech of Down’s Syndrome. I wasn't worried 

about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't 

generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter

is good and the pies are homemade.

The ones who concerned me were the mouthy college kids 

traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their 

silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded

'truck stop germ'; the pairs of white-shirted business men on

expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants

to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable

around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks..

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my 

staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a 

month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck

stop mascot.

After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers

thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes,

eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to 

his duties. Every salt and pepper-shaker was exactly in its place

not a breadcrumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got 

done with the table. 

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table

until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the 

background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, 

scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would 

scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses 

onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced

flourish of his rag.

If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker 

with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly

right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and

every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who

was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on 

their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the

truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him 

every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money 

was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between

them being able to live together And Stevie being sent to a group

home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning 

last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or 

something put in his heart. His social worker said that people 

with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early 

age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance 

he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back 

at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when 

word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine.

Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little 

dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.

Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the

sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy

beside his table.

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Bell Ringer a 

withering look.

He grinned. 'OK, Frannie , what was that all about?' he asked..

'We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.'

'I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. 

What was the surgery about?'

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting

at his booth about Stevie's surgery then sighed: 'Yeah, I'm glad 

he is going to be OK,' she said.

'But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all 

the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is.' 

Bell Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to 

wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round 

up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace

him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we 

decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had 

a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her 

face.

'What's up?' I asked.

'I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were 

sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper

were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,' she said.

'This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.'

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my

desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, 

was printed 'Something For Stevie'.

'Pony Pete asked me what that was all about,' she said, 'so I told

him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked

at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.'

She handed me another paper napkin that had 'Something 

For Stevie' scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked

within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, 

shook her head and said simply: 'Truckers!!'

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day 

Stevie is supposed to be back to work.

His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the

doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a

holiday. He called ten times in the past week, making sure we

knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that

his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them 

in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he 

pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where 

his apron and busing cart were waiting

'Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,' I said. I took him and his mother 

by their arms. 'Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you 

coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!'

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.

I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we

marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, 

I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the 

procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was

covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting 

slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins 'First thing 

you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,' I said. I tried to 

sound stern.

Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one 

of the napkins. It had 'Something for Stevie' printed on the

outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from 

beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled 

on it. I turned to his mother. 'There's more than $10,000 in cash 

and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies

that heard about your problems.. 'Happy Thanksgiving.'

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering 

and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.

But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy 

shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big 

smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes

from the table....

Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow..

At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or 

forward it, fulfilling the need!

If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate 

.

Well.. Don't just sit there! Send this story on! Keep it going, this 

is a good one! 

Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.

May God Bless and keep you and don't forget that GOD

LOVES YOU and is WITH YOU ALWAYS!

Larry

NOTE: This letter is sent to anyone interested in receiving these inspirational notes. There is no charge and you are encouraged to forward these to anyone you think would benefit from reading them. If you would like to receive them direct, just send an email to me at larryperry at att.net and ask.

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