In 1931, American people were suffering from the Great Depression. Thousands were laid off, and everyone was struggling to get by. My father was a butcher. He owned his own shop, but he had to let most of his employees go due to the Depression. I worked for free as his apprentice. Every night, at around 6:30, my friend Drew would come get me, and we would play baseball or football or something until the sun went down. Drew was much taller than me, red hair, and freckled. His father worked and owned a bakery around the block from the butcher shop. We had very similar days. He would sweep up and help clean the bakery and be a cashier, and I did the same. We were best friends.
One evening, we were running through the park deciding what we wanted to be when we grew up and we stumbled across a man. He was an old man, with a suit and hat on. He was stiff, but leaned towards us as if he had something to say. He asked us to sit down on the park bench with him. Although anxious, we sat beside him, waiting for what he had to say.
"Lately, I have been come to this bench each night to think. Every night I see you two running past, laughing and enjoying life. Why do you do that?"
"Mister... What do you mean?" I asked him, confused by his question.
"I have worked every day of my life since I was thirteen years old trying to make an honest living, and after working twenty five years for the same company, I was laid off. My wife can't even look at me. My children, a little older than you two, will go off into the world with nothing to show for. I have failed my family. And there is nothing I can do to help them." A tear, small and hidden between the aging in his face, began to slowly drip down the old man's face.
"Mister, everything will be okay. I am sure of it." Drew sounded so sure of himself. I have listened to my father's conversations with my mother and how we had to cut back at home, and how the shop was starting to feel the effects of the Depression. Why did Drew sound so positive?
"Son, you have a lot to learn." the man turned away, and began to weep.
"Mister, just hold on. Everything will work out for the better. Go home and enjoy life with your wife. Think about when you were our age. Things will turn around." Once more I didn't understand why Drew was so sure of himself. Why was he saying all of these things to a stranger?
The man stood up, straightened his coat, and adjusted his hat. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes and then returned the handkerchief to its resting place. He looked down on us and gave a subtle nod. He walked away, much faster than I would have thought, down to the end of the park, and then ran to his house. Drew and I watched him until he disappeared down the city streets.
The sun was going down, which meant we both had to get going. We said our evening goodbyes and ran our separate ways. The whole run home I thought about what had happened. I never saw that man again, and Drew and I never spoke of it again. It was just an old man on a bench in the park, nothing more it seemed.
Drew Harris was and always will be My Hero.
-B
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