The Magic of a Note

Condensed By Dwight Wendell Koppes

“To indicate to another human being that ‘I noticed, I care’ --- in writing--- can bring incomparable rewards.”

The letter came on one of those overcast, slushy March mornings. My bursitic hip was heralding untimely decrepitude, and the shaving mirror had confirmed my general feeling of the blahs. Self- pity had moved into stay for the day---- or would have, except for the letter. It was from a man I had never met: the father of our teen-age son’s best friend.

“Confined to a wheelchair as I am,” the note said, “I can’t share much of young Bob’s life. He lolls me about the things he does with you and your son, what a good sort you are, how lively and young-looking. I am very grateful that he has the friendship of you and your son. Thank you!”

“Keen and young-looking, eh?” My mirror had lied, obviously. The day’s writing developed a definite lilt, and when the boys came home from school I made it a point to shoot a few extra baskets with them, the quiescent bursitis.

Then I drove Bob home, and met his father. We took to each other at once.

A few weeks later, Bob Senior died. After the memorial service, I pondered things that no ordinary day would admit---and quietly the revelation came: If this man, an invalid whose days were numbered, could reach out and touch me, a stranger, and make my gray day brighter, and me more attentive to the interests and needs of others, then surely any man can do the same for someone.

I thanked my departed friend for his example, and went to my study, glowing with what I thought I had discovered. This revelation, I told myself, could become my own “magnificent obsession.” And I would waste no time. I tried to think of someone to whom to send a note of thanks and encouragement and decided on the mechanic who had recently repaired my wife’s car. Soon my typewriter was clattering away.

The next time I visited the garage, I thought the mechanic gave me a peculiar look. Later, my wife said casually that she had given the garage man a piece of her mind for his exorbitant bill, and told him she’d never patronize him again!

What had gone wrong? I went back to my friend’s note, and the circumstances surrounding it. His had been an honest emotion, simply expressed. My note to the mechanic had been calculated, forced and somewhat insincere. Maybe, too, I shouldn’t have written. Wouldn’t a warmspoken word do just as well?

The acid test came soon. A friend named Fred did a beautiful job running our club’s ladies’ night. Afterward, we all told him so. But I had had my turn at the job, and knew how much time and thought it took--- so I put that into a note and thanked Fred, even though the theme by this time seemed outworn.

Not so; emphatically not so. At the next luncheon, Fred put his arm on my shoulder. “Thanks, pal,” he murmured. “Thanks!”

No big thing--- just a little note saying something like, “You did a great job. We owe you a lot. Thanks.” But because I had taken the trouble to put it in writing, it had meant more to both of us.

From time to time, we employ a Mexican gardener whose work I haven’t always been happy with. But, awhile back, I noticed that he had painstakingly replaced and reinforced some foundation plantings that our dogs had knocked over, and had glued together a Mexican urn that had been lying abandoned at a back corner of our house, I wrote him a thank you note.

The next time Ernesto came, he said nothing about the note---until I paid him at the end of the day and he took out a worn wallet to deposit his money. My letter, much the worse for handling and folding, was there in the center clip of the wallet.

“My boy esplain for me,” he said, beaming. “He read for me, many times. Muchas gracias--- I keep!”

That day, he had done his best work since we hired him. Because, observe: he was a fine gardener, and he had a letter to prove it! Now all of us who use his services get better and happier work--- and to myself I seem a thoughtful employer. Two enhanced self-images, two better people---all because of a brief note.

This little miracle happened again last June. A member of our school board had charge of the outdoor commencement exercises. Just as the program began, the loudspeakers conked out, even though they had been carefully tested an hour earlier. Nobody could hear the ceremonies, and some mean things were aid about it. I wrote this school board member a note: “I know how hard you worked on the arrangements---and how much you have done to help our schools. Thank you for that--- and forget the other; it was no fault of yours. We need you.”

His wife came to see us soon afterward. “Several friends spoke to Jim to encourage him,” she said. “But he paid little attention and was all set to resign---until your letter came. Now he’s staying on board.”

He did, and subsequently was elected president. In a way, my little note had done that. What if I hadn’t written it?

And a funny thing: the unexpected note that says, “I noticed, I care,” can never fall fallow, can never be appreciated. This is especially true of those who are unaccustomed to public notice, to applause as a routine thing; the gas station attendant who does extra innings for your car; the school crossing grandfather who guards the children’s safety with such care and good humor; the librarian who goes all out to help you read that special book; he newspaper boy who puts the morning paper just where you like. Which of these would not be charmed and cheered---and confirmed in his good work---by your “thank you” in writing?

The time has come now when my wife can sense a note-prompting happening, and she smiles at me knowingly. She even suggests a note now and then. But she wasn’t prepared to become a recipient.

It occurred to me recently that I ever reach into my dresser drawer without finding clean shirts and socks; that I rarely eat anything she hasn’t selected and cooked; that she never fails to counter my dark moods with humor and devotion. For the first time, I put my appreciation in writing, and actually mailed it. Then, quickly, I wished I hadn’t. How corny can you get?

I needn’t have worried. When the tears of happiness with which she greeted me at the end of the day had been dried, when she had marveled again about “a letter from you when you weren’t even out of town, and the sweet things you said,” we both felt so good that we decided to go out for dinner, see a show and make an event of it.

There it was again, a little bit of magic!