Being True

I was in my 8th grade American History class at Watkins Memorial. This community was made of mostly middle and lower income students, many with blue collar fathers, stay at home mothers, and lots of plain old Ohio country folks. I lived just outside of Etna, Ohio, so small you would miss it if you blinked your eyes while driving through.

I remember this day as if it were yesterday, even though it was 38 years ago. There was an 8th grade boy named Johnny who pestered the daylights out of everyone. I am able to look back now and realize that Johnny was a typical 13 year old, seeking attention, and not quite mature, but at the time he was just not someone we wanted around. He was short, a little grubby, and hyperactive.

The bell had not rung for Miss Ralston's class to begin, so we were all jostling around in the small classroom trying to get to our seats. I was toward the middle of the classroom, a good student, although tall, gangly and bespectacled. Kind of a geek. I noticed a commotion at the front of the classroom, and realized that Johnny was once again getting himself in a mess. Several boys were picking up Johnny and stuffing him down into the classroom trash can. Johnny was stuck, with only his arms, head and legs sticking out. He was struggling, trying to get out, but the rest of the class was laughing at his predicament. I am ashamed to admit that I was laughing at Johnny, too.

Probably the boy most greatly respected in our 8th grade class was Dick Harvey. If you are not from this era or earlier, you may not know anyone nicknamed Dick, but it was not unusual back then. Dick Harvey was Donny Osmond cute. He was tall, had thick dark hair, really smart, athletic and played the drums in band! I don't think there was an 8th grade girl who didn't totally crush on Dick Harvey, myself included. He had an aura about him that commanded respect as well as admiration.

In the midst of the laughter and derision directed towards the unfortunate Johnny, Dick Harvey entered the classroom. The other boys started calling out to Dick, telling him to look at the trash in the room, making fun of Johnny still thrashing about in the metal can. I think we all expected Dick to join in the laughter, and all eyes were on him, wondering what barb he would throw Johnny's way. However, what happened next impacted my life forever.

Dick put his books down and immediately walked over to Johnny, and without a word or a glance at any of the members of the classroom, simply helped Johnny out of the trashcan and to his seat. Dick didn't lecture us, or yell at any of the boys, and he didn't boast about his acts. He simply did what he knew was the right thing to do. Oh, how awful I felt! My face was burning. The catcalls, the hooting, the giggles all faded away, and every 8th grader in that room lowered his or her head in shame.

I have told this story, more or less the same way, to hundreds of my students over the years. My own children can recite it word for word as well. I don't know what happened to Dick Harvey, as I moved away the following summer. Some of the details of the story may not be exactly as it happened, but the movie in my head remembers it this way.

Why can't we all be Dick Harvey? Why can't each one of us choose to do the right thing, to help those who need us, to reach out to the less fortunate, even when it seems to be going against the tide? Imagine what little effort it took for Dick to help Johnny, but that moment has helped me in so many situations when it would have been easy to go along with the crowd.

I don't remember any of the boys' names who put Johnny in the trash can. I don't even remember their faces. Who will I never forget? Dick Harvey. What a guy.