This is a beautiful story, if you have a minute, it will 
make you cry. 
some of you may have seen this, but its great to know there 
are 
still really great people in this crazy world of ours. 
I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring 
 Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be 
a good, 
reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped 
employee 
and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my Customers 
would 
react 
 to 
 Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial 
features 
 and thick-tongued speech of Down syndrome. I wasn't worried 
about 
most of my trucker customers because truckers don't 
generally care who 
buses tables as long as the meat loaf platter is good and 
the pies are 
homemade.The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who 
concerned me; 
the 
 mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs 
who 
secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear 
of 
catching 
  some 
 dreaded "truck stop germ"; the pairs of white shirted 
business men on 
  expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants 
to be 
 flirted 
with. I >knew those people would be uncomfortable around 
Stevie so I 
  closely 
watched him 
for the first few weeks. I shouldn't have worried. After the 
first 
week, 
 Stevie had my 
staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a 
month my 
 truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop 
mascot. 
After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the 
customers 
thought 
  of 
 him. 
 He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to 
laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to 
his duties. 
 Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a 
bread 
crumb 
  or 
 coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the 
table. Our only 
problem 
 was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the 
customers 
 were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting 
his weight 
from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a 
table was 
 empty. 
Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus 
dishes and 
glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up 
with a 
 practiced 
 > > >>flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, 
his brow 
 > > >>would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in 
doing his job 
 > > exactly 
 > > >>right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each 
and every 
 > > person 
 > > >>he >met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his 
mother, a widow 
 > who 
 > > >was >disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived 
on their 
 > > Social 
 > > >Security >benefits in public housing two miles from the truck 
stop. 
> > >>The Social worker, which stopped to check on him every so 
often, 
 > > >>admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was 
tight, and what 
I 
 > > >paid him 
 > > >>was probably the difference between them being able to live 
together 
and 
 > > >Stevie 
 > > >>being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a 
gloomy 
 > > >>place that morning last August, the first morning in three 
years that 
 > > Stevie 
 > > >>missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting 
a new 
valve 
 > or 
 > > >>something put in his heart. His social worker said that 
people with 
Down 
 > > >>syndrome often had heart problems at an early age so this 
wasn't 
 > > unexpected, 
> > >and 
 > > >>there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in 
good 
shape 
 > > and 
 > > >>be back at work in a few months. A ripple of excitement ran 
through 
the 
 > > >staff later >that morning when word came that he was out of 
surgery, in 
 > > >recovery and doing 
 > > >>fine. Frannie, my head waitress, let out a war hoop and did 
a little 
 > dance 
 > > >in the >aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one 
of our 
 > > regular 
 > > >trucker >customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old 
grandmother 
of 
 > > >four doing a victory >shimmy beside his table. Frannie 
blushed, 
smoothed 
 > > her 
 > > >apron and shot Belle >Ringer a withering look. He grinned. 
"OK, 
Frannie, 
 > > what 
 > > >was that all about?" he >asked. "We just got word that 
Stevie is out 
of 
 > > >surgery and going to be 
 > > >>okay."I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell 
him. What 
 > was 
 > > >the 
 > > >>surgery about?" Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the 
other two 
 > > drivers 
 > > >>sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. 
"Yeah, I'm 
 > glad 
 > > he 
 > > >is going >to be OK", she said. "But I don't know how he and 
his Mom are 
 > > going 
 > > >to handle all >the bills. From what I hear, they're barely 
getting by 
as 
 > it 
 > > >is." Belle Ringer nodded >thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried 
off to wait 
 > on 
 > > >the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't >had time to round up 
a busboy 
to 
 > > >replace Steve and really didn't want to replace >him, the 
girls were 
 > busing 
 > > >their own tables that day until we decided what to do. 
 > > >>After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She 
had 
 > > >>a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her 
face. " 
What's 
 > > >up?" I >asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer 
and his 
 > friends 
 > > >>were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and 
Tony 
Tipper 
 > > were 
 > > >>sitting there when I got back to clean it off" she said. 
"This was 
 > folded 
 > > >and tucked >under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, 
and three 
 > $20 
 > > >bills fell onto my 
 > > >>desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, 
was 
printed 
 > > >>Something For Stevie." "Pony Pete asked me what that was all 
about," 
she 
 > > >said, >"so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and 
everything, and Pete 
 > > >looked at Tony 
 > > >>and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." 
She handed 
 > me 
 > > >>another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" 
scrawled on its 
 > > >outside. Two >$50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie 
looked at 
 > me 
 > > >with wet, shiny eyes, >shook her head and said simply 
"truckers."That 
was 
 > > >three months ago. Today is >Thanksgiving, the first day 
Stevie is 
 > supposed 
 > > to 
 > > >be back to work. His placement >worker said he's been 
counting the days 
 > > until 
 > > >the doctor said he could work, and it 
 > > >>didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 
times in the 
 > past 
 > > >week, 
 > > >>making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had 
forgotten him 
or 
 > > that 
 > > >his 
 > > >>job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him 
to work, 
 > met 
 > > >them in 
 > > >>the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day 
back. 
Stevie 
 > > was 
 > > >thinner >and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed 
through the 
 > > doors 
 > > >and headed for >the back room where his apron and busing cart 
were 
 > waiting. 
 > > >"Hold up there, >Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and 
his 
mother 
 > by 
 > > >their arms. "Work can wait >for a minute. To celebrate you 
coming back, 
 > > >breakfast for you and your mother is >on me." led them 
toward a large 
 > > corner 
 > > >booth at the rear of the room. I could feel >and hear the 
rest of the 
 > staff 
 > > >following behind as we marched through the dining >room. 
Glancing over 
my 
 > > >shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers >empty 
and join 
 > the 
 > > >procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface 
was 
 > >covered 
 > >with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting 
slightly 
crooked 
 > > on 
 > > >>dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, 
Steve, is 
 > > clean 
> > >up this >mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked 
at me, 
and 
 > > then 
 > > >at his 
 > > >>mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had 
"Something for 
 > Stevie" 
 > > >printed on >the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills 
fell onto 
the 
 > > >table. Stevie 
 > > >>stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from 
beneath the 
 > > >tableware, >each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I 
turned to 
his 
 mother. "There's more >than $10,000 in cash and checks on 
that table, 
all 
 from truckers and trucking >companies that heard about your 
problems. 
 Happy 
 Thanksgiving."Well, it got real >noisy about that time, with 
everybody 
 hollering and shouting, and there were a few >tears, as well. 
But you 
  know 
 what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking >hands 
and hugging 
each 
 other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy 
clearing 
all 
 the 
cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired. You 
now have 
  two 
 choices . 
 1. Delete this and pretend it did'nt touch your heart as it 
did mine. 
2. Forward this to everyone you know. 
It's your call