Here is another short story that I wrote many years ago; Henry’s Story or “El Lector” -For Marc- Ever since Henry Bennecker could remember he was a certified bookworm. For Henry, reading was the brightest spot in an otherwise fairly dim world. His job was dull, he had no family, his looks were nondescript and his social life was pretty much nonexistent. But that was ok with Henry. As long as he had something to read, he was content. Despite this rather scant list of attributes, all of which could be filed squarely in the “unimpressive” column, Henry was decidedly an impressive individual. The only difference between Henry and the vast majority of the impressive set was this; He didn’t wear it on his sleeve. In order to see how truly unique and inspiring an individual he was, you had to get to know him. That is to say, you had to spend some time with him. Or at least near him. Henry had lived in Philadelphia for three years when he lost his job at the Dollar Store on South Street. Henry worked on the loading dock, unpacking the shipments and making sure things got out on to the sales floor quickly. He was good at his job too, but there was another fellow, Aubrey, who had been working on the loading dock at the Dollar Store for years and years by the time Henry was hired. Aubrey had seniority. And when the Dollar store needed to cut costs; unfortunately Henry was the first to go. Everybody at the Dollar Store felt bad that Henry was leaving and they told him so. Aubrey gave him the name of a man who ran another loading dock over in University City. Aubrey told Henry that he would put in a good word for him and Henry thanked Aubrey for that. Henry got the job at the little loading dock in University City. And after his two week probationary period had passed, Henry had to tell the nice Cuban lady who ran the boarding house where Henry lived that he had to move over to University City to be closer to work. He was sad to leave the little boarding house on 21st street because it was the closest thing Henry had ever known to a real home. But he had no choice; the trolley back and forth was too expensive for the little man to afford. You see; the new job was at a sort of thrift store. It was very different from the Dollar Store over on South Street. For one thing, Henry’s salary was much smaller. But Henry was still happy. He had enough money to pay his rent at his new boarding house on Pine Street. He had enough money to buy lunch from the pushcart vendor on the sidewalk in front of the store. And after all that he had just enough leftover to spend his days off taking the trolley into Center City and visiting the library. Henry was quite content and felt happy almost all the time now. He did a fine job at the little loading dock at the thrift store and everybody told him so. He went to the library every week on his off day and sometimes, he would drop by the Dollar Store on South Street to say hello to Aubrey and the other people he knew who worked there. They all smiled when Henry would stop by. If he had time, he would call on Mrs. Salvador at the boarding house on 21st Street just to say “hello”. She was such a nice lady. She would always say “Henry! You are so thin come in and have some wonderful clam chowder that I am making for to eat! You will come and join us!” Henry knew better than to try to say no, plus Mrs. Salvador was a fantastic cook! Things went thusly all through the long hot summer and into the crisp clean autumn days. But then, as winter was approaching, on a typical Monday morning, Henry arrived at work to find the doors were locked and there was a notice posted on the window. It said that the thrift store had to close because they had lost their lease. Henry was once again out of work! He was so upset. He was worried that he might not be able to find another place to work. He was afraid that he might have to move out of the boarding house on Pine Street. But move to where? Henry was panic personified! Then he paused and decided to pull himself together and take the trolley into Center City to the library. He could think at the library, plus, it would be warm there. Little Henry boarded the trolley and quietly said hello to the conductor. He didn’t know the man’s name but Henry had seen him many times on previous trips into Center City. The conductor smiled at Henry but Henry was so preoccupied with his work troubles, he failed to return the compliment. This struck the conductor as strange because Henry was always so bright and cheerful. Henry made his way to the very back seat on the trolley car and sat down near several ladies wearing maid’s uniforms. They were trying to explain how time cards worked to the youngest, and Henry assumed newest, of the maids. They were all speaking at the same time and in broken English. This noise, coupled with the grinds and squeals of the trolley as it made it’s way into the tunnels that led under the Schuylkill River and beneath Center City was deafening to Henry that morning. As an escape he pulled out the book he was reading and opened it to the bookmark. The book was a collection of short stories by Oscar Wilde and the story he was about to start was called The Happy Prince. As a means of trying to tamp out the rabble that surrounded him as well as a way of being able to concentrate on the story, Henry started reading out loud. After only a few sentences, the maids had stopped their yapping and they were all listening to what Henry was reading. Henry was not aware of this at first but as he turned the page and glanced up he was startled to have his glance met with half a dozen faces all staring at him. He went flush with embarrassment and immediately looked back at the freshly turned page. He continued to read but this time silently. After a few seconds one of the maids, a very plump Mexican lady, began hitting Henry with her rolled up newspaper saying “No! No! You read aloud! We want hear story too!” Henry was startled by this request but at the same time it made him feel good too. Best of all he wasn’t thinking about job troubles. He started from the top of the page reading out loud. After a few sentences a girl in a maroon hooded “Temple University” sweatshirt who was sitting in the row in front of the maids said; “Hey! Little Man, read it a louder! I can’t hear over all this trolley car racket!” Henry smiled and obliged. The maids were so engrossed in the story Henry was reading that they missed their stop. They didn’t even notice until Henry had finished “The Happy Prince”. At the next stop they all smiled at Henry as they gathered their things and headed off the trolley. One of the maids suddenly shouted; “It’s coming! Hurry! Come quickly!” and they all scurried to catch the next trolley heading back to their stop. Henry’s stop was next. So he closed the book and put it in his bag. He smiled at the conductor as he got off the trolley. The conductor smiled back and said; “Now that’s more like it!” Henry went to the library every day that week. And every day he read out loud from his seat at the back of the trolley car. And every day the crowd of listeners grew. But the end of each day found Henry alone in his room at the boarding house on Pine Street. Alone with the stark realization that he had to face facts! He needed to find some work and fast. He had wasted almost an entire week! But Henry’s anxiety was always fleeting. He was the peaceful quiet sort. Panic, like anger was never an emotion he could wear for long periods of time. Therefore his thoughts would quickly stray from his dilemma to his joy. Oh how he enjoyed the time he spent reading out loud to the people on the trolley car. It made him feel useful. On the Friday morning of that ”wasted week” Henry rode into Center City once again. He was reading “The Remarkable Rocket” from the book of short stories by Oscar Wilde, oh, by Friday Henry had realized he should pick stories that were short enough so that none of the maids would miss their stop and be late for work again. And that’s when something magical happened. As Henry was stepping off the trolley car, saying goodbye to Daryl, (that was the conductor’s name, by the way) Henry was approached by a small and stylish lady. She crisply introduced herself as Carliss Retif-Pond! She spoke very fast and as she did her eyes sparkled and her diction was flawless. From what Henry could gather, she worked for the Library! She was the head of “public relations” for the library! She had been taking the trolley to work for the past couple of days, something about her Audi being in the shop. He didn’t quite catch that part. “I’ve had my eye on you!” she said with a wink, slapping his arm with her handbag. “You’ve got the gift of El Lector!” she then announced with a flourish. Henry looked at Ms. Pond with an oblivious expression all over his face. This ignited a surprised look to form on Ms. Pond’s face. “El Lector!” she said stressing the very “Spanish-ness” of the word. “El Lector was the man who would read out loud to the men rolled cigars in the cigar factories of Puerto Rico! He was very important! Which brings me to why I have I’m bothering you in the first place.” Henri began to tell Ms. Pond that she wasn’t bothering him at all when she continued; “How would you like to come and read out loud for us at the Library? Now before you say no, I just want you to know that we can pay you (a little something) and it would only be on weekdays.” She paused for a moment, looking for some sort of a reaction from little Henry then she said; “Well? Would you? Please!” She didn’t have to ask twice. Henry was understandably “over the moon”! He told Ms. Pond that he “would be thrilled to take such a job!” Then Henry thought for a moment and said; “Now wait a second Ms. Pond. You’re not pulling my leg here. Are you?” Ms. Pond sighed and waved her perfectly manicured hand in the air and said; “Of coarse not! Why on earth would I do that? Now when can you start?” Henry thought for a millisecond before saying; “How about right now?” With a delighted giggle and a wink from her dazzling sapphire eyes, Carliss Retif Pond took Henry’s arm and said; “That sounds like a plan Mister…” she stopped abruptly and turned to Henry; “Oh my sainted Aunt! I’m so sorry but I don’t even know your name!” Henry smiled at Ms. Pond and proudly said “Henry Bennecker” and off they went to the library. The people at the library put Henry to work right away. Henry read all kinds of stories to all kinds of people. He read to preschoolers and older kids and even to people his own age and older who were blind or just liked to hear a good story read out loud by someone else. Carlis Retif-Pond was often at the back of the room with a few of the Library’s board members in tow. Henry was her “find of the decade!” She would often say. Henry was so happy. Things were really looking up for him. At first he had thoughts of moving back into Mrs. Salvador’s place on 21st. But then he realized that if he did that, he would no longer need to ride the trolley car! So he decided to stay put in the boarding house on Pine Street and ride the trolley into work each day, he had so grown to love his time on the trolley car. His work schedule kept him busy for sure. Henry read to all sorts of groups all day long at work, but his favorite group was still the people on the trolley car every morning. Henry had become a fixture. Over the years, the group that gathered around the back of the trolley car changed. Some new faces appeared and others vanished. Some mornings there were only a few listening. Other mornings almost the whole car was facing backwards hanging on little Henry’s every word. He read from all sorts of books about all kinds of people and adventures. One time, about a year after he started to read out loud, he tried to read a novel to the people on the trolley. Each morning he would share a new chapter with them. But that didn’t work out too well. Some of the maids had different days off and because they didn’t want to miss a chapter they would get up early on their day off and ride into Center City and then, after the chapter was done, they would go right back home and back to bed. Well Henry didn’t want to have these nice ladies spending trolley fare just for a chapter so he went back to the short stories. For seven years Henry rode the trolley. For seven years he read out loud to the people who gathered at the back of the trolley car. But then one bitterly freezing cold morning in February, as the trolley pulled away from Henry’s stop; Henry was not on board. The following day the same thing happened. The trolley seemed empty without the little man sitting at the back of the car. The next day, Daryl waited almost ten minutes hoping Henry would show up. But he didn’t. You see. Henry had gotten very, very sick with pneumonia and was lying weak with a fever in his bed at the boarding house on Pine Street. To make matters even worse, Henry didn’t tell anybody that he was even beginning to feel ill. He tended to keep to himself; Henry never wanted to worry anybody. Unfortunately, he was quite good at that, so nobody worried about poor Henry until it was almost too late. After a week or so, Henry’s landlord realized that he had not seen Henry coming and going in his cheerful manner; in fact, he had not seen Henry at all. That struck the landlord as strange. So he went up to Henry’s room and knocked on the door several times but there was no answer. So the landlord went and got his passkey and unlocked Henry’s door. When he opened it he could see Henry lying on his bed drenched in sweat and looking very pale and sick. The landlord slowly approached the bed and asked him if he needed a doctor. Henry didn’t answer. He didn’t even open his eyes. The only thing the landlord heard was the slow rhythmic wheezing sound of Henry’s labored breathing. The landlord immediately went down to the phone in the hall and telephoned the hospital. The paramedics arrived shortly thereafter. They scrambled up the old wooden stairs with a shiny metal gurney and into Henry’s room. They tried to wake him but they could not. So they carefully removed the small green book from Henry’s chest and gently, they lifted him from his bed placing him softly on the gurney’s crisp white sheets. Even this didn’t rouse little Henry. As one of the paramedics was covering up Henry with a woolen blanket and making sure he was securely strapped to the gurney, the other paramedic glanced around the room and noticed the stacks and stacks of books that were piled up everywhere. “C’mon Karl.” said the other paramedic, “We’ve got to get this little guy to the hospital!” Karl thought to himself for a second; “That little guy must really love books a lot. I mean, to be that sick and still want to read” So Karl grabbed the little green book and tucked it under the woolen blanket right next to Henry on the gurney. Then they quickly but carefully carried Henry downstairs past the other tenants who had all gathered in the hall to see what all the noise was about, and out to the ambulance. A light snow was falling and the evening air smelled of fires in fireplaces. The previous day’s snow had piled thick and moist on the trees’ bare branches giving them a magical appearance. Beneath this frosted canopy, the windows of the brick row houses seemed to glow with a welcoming yellow light. People were just arriving home from work. The air was cold but the feeling was warm. Then, all at once, the peaceful scene was gone; shattered by the ambulance’s sirens, its flashing lights destroying the calmness of the winter evening. With a shrill and a roar the ambulance pulled away from the slushy curb and carried Henry off to the Thomas Jefferson Hospital. Now, Thomas Jefferson Hospital is a great hospital staffed with wonderful and talented doctors and nurses. But there was nothing they could do for Henry. Shortly after he arrived in the emergency room he had slipped away. He was gone. But he didn’t go without a ripple. The following Monday Carliss Retif-Pond, who was quite concerned about Henry, having not seen him at the library for a whole week, went to all the hospitals frantically looking for Henry. When she found out that Henry had died, she was devastated! If only she had known that he was sick, she could have done something! Now it was too late. Or was it? Through her grief, she gathered herself. Then, she did the only thing she could think of to make sure that little Henry Bennecker would not be forgotten. Being a savvy woman who knew her way around the press, she telephoned a few reporters that she knew and told them she had a story for them, a big story; Henry’s story. And so it came to pass that Henry’s story appeared in all the local papers and many people read it. One of them was one of the maids from the trolley. She had been there that very first day. In fact, she was the maid who hit him with her newspaper and said: “No! No! You read aloud! We want hear story too!” When she read that the little man from the trolley car who read stories out loud had died, she felt quite sad. But she felt something else too. It was something she couldn’t explain. Whatever it was, she knew what she had to do. The next morning she took the article about Henry from the newspaper with her and she read it out loud from the back seat of the trolley car. And the next day she read another story by Dorothy Parker to the people on the trolley car. But that wasn’t the end of Henry’s ripple, not by a long shot! Those newspaper stories got around! And a great many people read about Henry. And Henry’s story inspired many of them. Most of them had never even heard little Henry Bennecker’s voice in person. But make no mistake; they heard his message! They heard Henry loud and clear! Before you knew it, there were dozens of people reading to hundreds of people on the trolley cars all around Philadelphia. They were reading stories by every author you can think of. From Jane Austin to David Sedaris to Alice Walker and Dr. Seuss! They read funny stories and sad ones too. They read stories from the newspapers and from magazines. They read stories in English, Italian and Yoruba; every language you can imagine. It was an amazing time! And for a little while, the trolley cars of Philadelphia were warm and inspiring places to be. In close quarters with strangers, true, but wrapped up in wonderful words. Now that’s not only impressive; that is magic. And that was Henry. The End
Posted on: Sat, 05 Jul 2014 01:18:01 +0000