I live with my sister in a typical big-city high-rise apartment complex. This one has two towers of 21 floors of apartments and, on the main floor, a variety of amenities, including a 24-hour front desk, a convenience store, a nail shop, a tailor, a hair stylist. A fair number of people work at those places and while we’re friendly with them, we don’t know their names.
Except for Chuck.
Chuck worked the evening shift at the front desk. In a past life, he’d worked for a Congressman and for a federal agency. He’d made and lost two fortunes in his 70 or so years. My main interaction with him and the gentleman who usually worked evenings with him was to jokingly complain about the number of packages my sister receives and how I had to be the one to pick them up. Others knew Chuck because of his propensity to wax eloquent about politics… or his willingness to cream them at chess with the board he kept on the front desk.
Chuck died a couple of weeks ago. I found out from one of the convenience store guys, whose name I still don’t know. I went to the front desk to find out; the guy he usually worked with said Chuck was on vacation, fell asleep on the couch, and fell off and broke his neck. He died right away. “I feel I have lost a great friend,” his colleague said with a very somber look. “We worked together for ten years.”
Chuck’s family invited the building to a wake at his son’s place, and my sister and I went. We learned about a whole different Chuck–the young, vibrant one who raised four engaging children about our age. We talked with three of them that day. And as we were leaving, his front-desk colleague came in with his niece. I’m embarrassed to say it wasn’t until then that I asked his first name. But I’ll never forget it now.
When I ran out for coffee over the weekend, I ran into one of the convenience store workers who was going to his apartment (he lives here as well) with his daughters and wife. A few minutes later, I saw one of the other front-desk workers who goes to my church, walking hand in hand with his children.
We all have separate lives, and sometimes it’s hard to let them intersect beyond a smile and hello. But I’ve decided this is the last day that I simply exchange pleasantries with these folks I see almost every day of my life. I’m going to ask–and remember–their names, in memory of Chuck.
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Mel, you and Angie’s blog hit me right in the gut! Reading your story reminded me how bad I am with names and how easily I “pass over” and “pass by” people. Sometimes it is because I am in a hurry, but often there are missed opportunities for connection that are lost to me. And then there are the many writer friends that I wish I knew better. How much richer our walk on this earth would be if we paid attention. Thanks.