Downs Syndrome--A Great Story
04-23-2010, 08:13 AM
#1
Super Member
Thread Starter
Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: Pine Grove, California
Posts: 2,816
>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 Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of
>my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses
>tables as long as the meatloaf 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 kid 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. Their social worker, who 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 Downs
>Syndrome often have 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, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in
>the aisle when she heard the good news.
>
>Marvin Ringers, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the
>sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy
>beside his table Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Marvin 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 Marvin 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.' Marvin 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 Stevie 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 and a funny look on her face.
>
>'What's up?' I asked.
>
>'I didn't get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting
>cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony 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'.
>
>'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 givin g 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. I then 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 your
>coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!' I 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, Stevie, 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 smile on his face, was busy
>clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.
>
>Best worker I ever hired.
>
>Plant a seed and watch it grow.
>
>At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it
>fulfilling the need!
>
>If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate
>person.
>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 Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of
>my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses
>tables as long as the meatloaf 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 kid 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. Their social worker, who 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 Downs
>Syndrome often have 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, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in
>the aisle when she heard the good news.
>
>Marvin Ringers, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the
>sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy
>beside his table Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Marvin 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 Marvin 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.' Marvin 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 Stevie 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 and a funny look on her face.
>
>'What's up?' I asked.
>
>'I didn't get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting
>cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony 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'.
>
>'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 givin g 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. I then 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 your
>coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!' I 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, Stevie, 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 smile on his face, was busy
>clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.
>
>Best worker I ever hired.
>
>Plant a seed and watch it grow.
>
>At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it
>fulfilling the need!
>
>If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate
>person.
04-23-2010, 08:48 AM
#4
Super Member
Join Date: Apr 2010
Location: originally Pittsburgh,Pa now in Omaha Ne
Posts: 1,297
Wow!! That made me cry...I have a down's syndrome grandson who will be a year old in June. He came as a suprize-my daughter had no idea that there was anything amiss. After the initial shock wore off, I told her that God only sent those special Angels to reside in families that can handle it. And they have beautifully! Adam is a tiny guy, but full of life, and when he smiles it lights up the whole room. I hope someday when he is grown, that someone as special as that restaurant owner will take a chance on him too.
Wonderful story thanks for sharing :D
Wonderful story thanks for sharing :D
04-23-2010, 10:34 AM
#8
Junior Member
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: Oakville,ON
Posts: 170
My co-Scout leader has Downs. Alan is very high functioning, and really could be on his own but his parents can still look after him, and he has brothers and sisters who can care for him too.
He is probably the best co leader I've had, and I thought there would be tons of animosity and comments from both scouts and parents.... and there is not 1 word.... I wish more people could be like that.
This is a wonderful story.
Theresa
He is probably the best co leader I've had, and I thought there would be tons of animosity and comments from both scouts and parents.... and there is not 1 word.... I wish more people could be like that.
This is a wonderful story.
Theresa
04-23-2010, 04:09 PM
#10
Super Member
Join Date: Jan 2010
Location: Upstate New York
Posts: 2,004
My brother has Downes Syndrome and when I read that it sounded as if you were talking about him.
He worked in a restaurant for a while. The people loved him and he loved the work. He lives in Arizona and because of their budget as of May 31st, they will no longer have a workshop or outside work for the "kids". They have cut off all aid to these people.
Apparently because the social worker didn't do her job, he wasn't "grandfathered in". Whatever that means. When my other brother who cares for him asked what are these "kids" going to do. She told him they had to get a job! He can't read or write. With the economy the way it is, how is he ever going to get a job and how would he get there. At the workshop they get paid $2.10 an hour. They have no idea how much money that is but it gives them pride because they have a job.
My brother asked the owner of the restaurant if he would hire my little brother. He said there was no way he could pay him minumum wage. What are these people going to do?
He worked in a restaurant for a while. The people loved him and he loved the work. He lives in Arizona and because of their budget as of May 31st, they will no longer have a workshop or outside work for the "kids". They have cut off all aid to these people.
Apparently because the social worker didn't do her job, he wasn't "grandfathered in". Whatever that means. When my other brother who cares for him asked what are these "kids" going to do. She told him they had to get a job! He can't read or write. With the economy the way it is, how is he ever going to get a job and how would he get there. At the workshop they get paid $2.10 an hour. They have no idea how much money that is but it gives them pride because they have a job.
My brother asked the owner of the restaurant if he would hire my little brother. He said there was no way he could pay him minumum wage. What are these people going to do?
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