“Life’s a bitch and then you die,” Henry Ruhl’s daughter used to say whenever her luck turned sour, but he always observed that if her luck had just become bad, then it must recently have been good. Good things happen in life, he always insisted, often unexpectedly.
The most rewarding moment of Henry Ruhl’s forty-year career as an educator occurred six years before he retired—on a deserted street in downtown Newark, New Jersey, a half-hour before sunrise on a chilly October morning.
Henry normally commuted by train from the Riverton Station in Lenape County. The ride took forty minutes, during which he usually read the morning Star-Ledger and did the crossword puzzle. He found the trip relaxing. When he got off at Penn Station, he enjoyed a pleasant twenty-minute walk to the community college where he taught. If he’d had to drive the Garden State Parkway and the Jersey Turnpike every day, he probably would have retired many years earlier.
On that particular morning, Henry was doing a favor for a friend’s wife by escorting her to Penn Station where she would board a train to Chicago to visit her ailing mother. She was unaccustomed to travel and had never used public transportation. Besides, her husband didn’t want her alone in the city so early. To make her connection, they had to catch the 4:05 a.m. local instead of Henry’s usual 7:05 express. Henry put his friend’s wife and her suitcase in the competent hands of an Amtrak Conductor at 5:15, then waved to her as the train pulled out of the station.
After a much-needed stop at the Men’s Room, Henry left the station and headed west on Raymond Boulevard just as dawn was breaking. On other mornings he walked in the company of dozens, maybe hundreds, of briefcase-carrying men and women on their way to the banks, insurance companies, and financial- and social-service offices where they were employed. Occasionally, he would run into other teachers, both from his college and the neighboring institutions of higher learning clustered together in University Heights. Some had come on other commuter trains from the south or west, many on the PATH from Manhattan.
But that morning Henry didn’t see another person on the streets. It was eerie despite the fact that he’d known what to expect. Offices opened at eight and college classes started at 8:30, so no-one had reason to be on the streets at such an early hour. He did see a limo pulling into the Prudential garage and a near-empty bus heading north on Broad Street, but he did not see another pedestrian until he was two blocks from the college. It was a narrow street between an empty un-attended parking lot and a parking garage whose only sign of anticipated use was a green light at the entrance. Henry had just turned onto the street when he spotted a man on the other side walking in the opposite direction. The man must have spotted Henry, too, because moments later he stepped off the curb and changed his direction so that their paths would intersect within, Henry quickly calculated, about thirty seconds.
Thirty-four years earlier, Henry had had a similar encounter. He was walking west on Market Street where the sidewalk is a good fifteen feet wide. He was a little earlier than usual and, while there were other people walking, it was not at all crowded. A slightly-built young Hispanic man whom Henry probably outweighed by thirty-five pounds was walking east near the curb while Henry was heading west near the storefronts. Suddenly their eyes caught and the young man made a forty-five degree change in direction, towards Henry, putting them on a collision course. Henry kept on his own course, walking at his usual rapid pace and swinging his brown leather briefcase. As they grew closer, Henry saw a dazed look in the young man’s eyes and thought he was staggering a bit unsteadily—either drunk or spaced out on something, probably looking for a handout. Henry was younger and shorter than most other pedestrians, so he assumed the man had decided he would be an easier mark. Henry continued to maintain course and pace. Just as they were about to collide, he said sharply, “I’m not stopping.” The man slowed down but walked right into Henry, and fell to the ground. “Sorry, Mister,” he mumbled, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Henry continued without looking back. No-one else took notice.
But now, as the new man came closer, Henry realized how big he was. This time he knew a collision would send him crashing to the ground. The man, who Henry could now see was black and probably around thirty, wore a watch cap on his head and a long dark jacket with the collar turned up to protect his neck from the wind and walked with his hands in his jacket pockets. Henry felt threatened, moreso as the man grew closer and bigger. The man could have continued on his own side of the street, but his choice not to, instead to force a close passing between the two, compelled Henry to think he was either after a handout or, worse, his wallet. He decided on the former when, about five feet away, the man removed his right hand from his pocket. It was empty, so he wasn’t armed. Henry at least had his aging briefcase to swing.
Then the man smiled broadly, extended his hand in greeting, and said, in a familiar deeply resonant voice, “Thank you, Dr. Ruhl. Thank you for busting my ass over subject-verb agreement and all those other grammar rules.”
Henry was flabbergasted, a word which he’d read in old books and written in crosswords but never used until he told the story to a few colleagues two hours later over coffee. “You’re very welcome, of course,” Henry answered, shaking the man’s huge hand with his little one until the man pulled him close enough for a hug. “I recognize your voice and face, but I’m sorry to say I can’t yet attach a name to them.”
“Houston Thornton.” Immediately, Henry could visualize the name in his grade book along with fifteen others in a remedial English class from six or seven years before. Henry remembered agonizing over the decision to pass him and also wishing he could have had him for another semester to be certain he was ready.
“You know,” Houston said, “as soon as I spotted you, I thought it was fate, because I’d been thinking a lot about you since the semester started.” Was he still in college? Henry thought. “As I got closer,” Houston continued, “I was almost positive it was you. You have a distinctive walk.”
“I wondered why you were crossing the street,” Henry said.
“Sorry if I scared you. I was just so glad to see you that I didn’t realize what the scene must have looked like to you.”
Henry’s watch said 5:42. The sun would be up over the ocean in thirty minutes, though it couldn’t be seen above the city architecture for another twenty. “I had to deliver a friend for an early train ride,” he said, “and I can always use an extra two hours to correct papers. What’s your excuse for being outside so early?”
“I’m on my way to work. I teach at the alternative high school three blocks from here. We just got delivery on some used computers from Central and I wanted to get in early to install them. The funny thing is, I said I’d been thinking about you because I remembered how you used to make me—and all the others, I guess—revise our papers over and over and over again. As soon as I get my lab set up, I’m gonna start doing the same thing—you know, bust ass until the kids do it right.”
Henry could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Listen,” he said, “I’m glad we ran into each other. It’s always good for teachers to learn that their students made something of themselves. Teaching writing is hard work, and I wish you well. As you can see from our chance meeting, it can also be very satisfying. I have a new section of remedials that will enjoy hearing about you today. You started where they are, and now you’re teaching English. That’s really a great success story.”
Houston hesitated, but Henry sensed he had more to say. “Well, just don’t get soft, Doc. Stick to your principles. You gave me a C, but it was the last C I ever had. When I got to English 101 and 102, my professors were impressed. I made very few mistakes in grammar and mechanics, so they could work with me on organization, development, and vocabulary. You might not believe this, but I got a straight-Aat Rutgers, and now I’m half way through a master’s degree.”
Wow! Henry thought. “Of course I believe you. Once you had mastered the fundamentals, the rest came easily. I’ve been preaching that for years.”
Houston Thornton extended his hand once more and said, “Thanks again, Dr. Ruhl. It’s been a pleasure talking to you. I’ve been lucky enough to have had some good teachers, but you were the best.”
“Thank you,” Henry said, counting his blessings and looking forward to busting ass that day. Maybe he had been getting soft.
