By Heino Molls
When I was a little kid, I used to go to the furniture shop where my dad worked on Saturdays. The people in the shop called me the store helper.
As I got a bit older I realized that they were just saying that to make me feel good about having to spend the day there, but I remember how proud I was to be thought of as a ‘helper’.
Now that I am much older, I have come to realize the value of being a helper really is as great as I thought when I was a little kid. In fact, it is of greater value to be a helper than I even imagined back in the early fifties.
In modern times people call helpers ‘volunteers’.
I confess that I had not truly grasped the great value of volunteers until I equated them with the word ‘helper’ that I have carried through all these years of my life.
I recall a man telling me a story of an operation he had in the hospital. He had been put under general anesthesia. He said he woke up and thought he might have been in heaven, because there was a woman standing over him who looked like what he imagined angels looked like. She had apparently been reading a book for an hour, waiting for him to awaken. When he stirred, she stood beside him and asked if he needed anything.
As he awoke further, he realized he was in the hallway of a crowded hospital. He was neither angry nor disappointed that hospital cutbacks prevented him from the dignity of awakening in a room instead of a hallway. He said the woman gave him such a feeling of well-being and comfort that it just didn’t matter. When he left the hospital, he realized he didn’t even know her name or where she had gone. She was simply a volunteer. No pay. No thanks. Just straight goodness.
There was a firefighter who rescued a child from a burning building. The child was in peril and needed to get to the hospital as fast as possible. The fireman looked for an ambulance to come and transport the little girl, but none was in sight. The hospital was a half-mile away, so he made an instant decision to run there with her in his arms. It was summer, the sun was blazing, they were in 40 degree heat. He ran in full gear, full coat and boots, with an oxygen tank still on his back. He ran all the way and saved the girl. He was a volunteer fireman.
A 70-year-old man gets up at 5 am in Huntsville, Ont. and drives two people to Toronto for medical treatment in his own car. The trip takes three hours, he waits for hours as they receive treatment, and then he drives them back. He does that twice a week through rush hour both ways. He gets gas money and nothing else. He is a volunteer driver.
Every year, people knock on doors for legitimate charities. They ask for money to help others, in some cases the very neighbours of those whose doors they knock on. Nobody likes to have these people at their door. These people are abused, yelled at, pushed and have doors slammed in their faces. But they go out just in case one or two people on the street might give them five or 10 bucks for the cause. They are volunteer canvassers.
It seems more appropriate to call them helpers. What an honourable thing it is to be a helper. I am so lucky that I know many helpers. I know a guy who collects clothing for those who have no means to buy good quality clothes. I know a 17-year-old kid who is blessed with smarts and uses his gifts to help others read and appreciate books. I know lots of helpers.
In my life I have benefited from the help of others many times. It is humbling when I think that more often than not, those who helped me most I knew the least. I think of these great people most often at this time of year.
In my job I go to many trade shows, conferences, conventions and meetings of all kinds. In the course of what I do, I gather business cards. They are a staple of my trade. I wish that one day I would receive a business card from someone with their name and simply the word “helper” written underneath.
I cannot think of anything more honourable to have in my possession.
Heino Molls is publisher of REM. Email [email protected].
