Good Samaritans Pop Up When You Least Expect Them
I experienced the kindness of strangers many times. Two of those experiences were truly memorable.
By Raphael Danziger
Here’s a good modern definition of a Good Samaritan: “A person who, in good faith, without expectation of payment or reward and without any duty of care or special relationship, voluntarily comes forward to administer immediate assistance or emergency care to a person injured in an accident, or crash, or emergency medical condition, or emergency situation.” There were no injuries or medical conditions in my two cases, but they felt like emergency situations to me. You, the reader, be the judge.
The first case occurred decades ago. I was sent to Houston, Texas, to deliver a talk for my organization. I spent the night before my mid-morning talk at a nearby hotel. I wore a business suit for my talk and had packed only a pair of pajamas for my one-nighter.
The next morning, I got up and began changing into my suit. To my utter dismay, the entire seam of my right pant leg unraveled as I tried to put on my pants! I felt helpless and hopeless. I could only collect safety pins from the room and pin up my pant leg. That, at least, prevented it from opening up and exposing my naked leg and underwear. But clearly, I was not about to give a talk to dozens of important attendees with safety pins adorning my pants.
So, I sheepishly went down to the front desk. The young woman behind the counter somehow suppressed her laughter and asked, “How can I help you?” I asked if there was a tailor or a clothing store nearby. She informed me that there was none. When she saw the sheer desperation on my face, she said: “I’ll help.”
She instructed me to come behind the counter, pulled a sewing kit from a drawer, removed the safety pins, and quickly sewed up the seam. I stood there, feeling both gratitude and embarrassment. When she was done, my pant leg looked as good as new! I felt like kissing and hugging her, which, of course, I didn’t. I offered her money, but she politely refused. My exuberance at this miraculous salvation carried me through my talk, which went off flawlessly.
The second, far more recent case, occurred during the height of the Covid crisis. Under California rules at the time, cycling was allowed, as were outdoor meetings, as long as social distancing was maintained. As we do every Friday, our senior community cycling group set out on our regular route to an outdoor café in a nearby San Francisco East Bay town. We all had our coffees, which were served from an outdoor counter.
It was a beautiful day, so I cherished lingering outside. I was the last person to leave.
I started riding home, but after a short time, I realized my rear tire was flat. I then noticed I had left my iPhone at home, so I pushed my bike back to the café to call my wife to pick me up with my bike. To my horror, the café had closed early due to Covid. So, my only resort was to push my bike back home — about 10 miles. That was not an attractive option, especially since it was getting hot. But what choice did I have?
So, I started once again. After no more than 100 yards, a beat-up pickup driven by a scrappy-looking middle-aged man stopped next to me. The driver said, “Seems like you have a flat. I can help.” I was skeptical, but the idea of pushing my bike for 10 miles helped me overcome my doubts. Besides, my gut feeling told me that despite his rough appearance, he was okay. I agreed. He told me to throw my bike onto the truck’s bed, which I did, admittedly with some hesitation. He then invited me to join him in the front seat.
He drove me for about 15 minutes through the town, pointed to a dilapidated house, and said, “This is my home.” That looked rather sketchy.
He opened the door to his garage and instructed me to come in with my bike. I then realized he had a mini-bike shop in his garage, equipped with all the necessary tools to fix a bike. Things were looking up.
He quickly removed my rear tire, brought a new inner tube, placed it on the rear rim, set the tire on top of it, and pumped the inner tube. My bike was now ready to go! I offered to pay him. He politely declined. He then drove me back to the point where he picked me up; with my poor sense of direction, I would have never found my way there. When I thanked him profusely, he said it was not the first time he had done this. As a cyclist himself, he looks out for distressed cyclists and is always happy to help them. I gratefully and happily rode home.
I have benefitted from countless other acts of kindness from strangers — albeit less memorable than these two. My takeaway has been that many people of goodwill are happy to help complete strangers when needed.
This has also motivated me to be kind to strangers wherever I can. Most recently, I have helped random elderly ladies in my community carry heavy loads to or from their cars. Despite my advanced age, whenever a disabled person boards my bus or train, I immediately offer my seat. Some years ago, after a stranger saw I had dropped a $20 bill without noticing, he ran after me and gave me my $20. When I offered to compensate him, he said, “Just pay it forward.” I gave $20 to the first homeless person I encountered. I’ll never forget his expression of surprise and gratitude.
I believe that acts of kindness to strangers — as small as they may be — make life worth living. The joy of helping people in need is at least as great as that of receiving help when needed. Giving indeed is receiving!
Raphael Danziger
An avid cyclist, I worked for decades as a Middle East analyst. Now retired, I enjoy my wonderful family, including 3 adorable grandchildren.
