I used to see the senior custodian every morning on my way into the boys’ school before I was banned from walking Charming Baby all the way to his classroom. Last winter I was alone with Jim on the front concrete steps while he shoveled rock salt out over the ice.
“Oooh-weee, it’s a cold one.” He gave a long whistle as he rhythmically scooped and tossed.
“It’s our first winter. We are really enjoying the snow.”
“Well you can have it.” He chuckled as he spoke.
“Oh, yeah? You tired of Ithaca winters?”
“Yes I am. Yes I am. As soon as I retire, I am moving south.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know, but someplace warm!” He laughed again.
I remember looking at him, all bundled up in a giant, hooded Yankees sweatshirt, and wondering how many people actually make it out of upstate New York. The cost of living here doesn’t exactly translate to cushy retirement on a beach, but what did I know about this man? I hoped that he would end up somewhere warm and nice.
Jim suffered a heart attack in the staff break room last Wednesday. None of the students were around and he was taken away without them even knowing in an ambulance. He died quietly later that afternoon in the hospital. It was 84 degrees.
Oh how sad!
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