Brian Kantz, Buffalo, NY-based writer and editor

THE NEWBIE DAD - OCTOBER 2007

TUESDAYS WITH MR. WINTER

Every Tuesday morning for the better part of the past two years, my son and I have driven Route 14 through the streets of Amherst, helping deliver lunches for Meals on Wheels.

Now I have to admit that we have our own selfish reasons for volunteering. As a stay-at-home dad, I enjoy any chance to get outside the four walls of our house. My three-year-old son, on the other hand, is largely motivated by the animal crackers that he gets from the volunteer coordinator.

But the real highlight for both of us has been our weekly visit with Mr. William Winter, one our Meals on Wheels “customers.” A true gentleman in every sense of the word, Mr. Winter passed away this summer and our route will never be the same.

Mr. Winter was from a different era — a time when Amherst was more rural than suburban, a time when text messaging meant sending someone a carefully handwritten letter inside a stamped envelope. He had qualities that you don’t find in just anybody anymore. That’s why I loved to bring my son into Mr. Winter’s house, if just to stop and chat for a few minutes before heading off to our next stop. I guess I hoped that my son could learn something important from this man. As it turned out, I’m pretty sure we both learned something.

Mr. Winter, who cut grass on his riding mower well into his eighties, was hardworking. Between toiling on his family farm and forging a career at Kenmore Builders, Mr. Winter helped his wife raise five children. I take it that he didn’t get a lot of sleep. He also mentioned that his late wife “had the ‘sugar,’ you know.” That was his old fashioned way of saying she had diabetes. At his funeral, I learned that Mr. Winter gave his wife exceptional, loving care in her final years. Now that’s hardworking.

And he was a terrific storyteller. Mr. Winter could tell you stories for as long as you could listen. He’d tell you that he never wore gloves, even during the most frigid Buffalo winters. He’d tell you about the different animals that lived on the farm over the years and the different crops he grew. He’d tell you how he once got his wife out of a speeding ticket. “Oh, she had a real lead foot,” he’d chuckle.

Like any good storyteller, he had his favorite tale. “This house was originally a school house and I went to school here and my teacher was my cousin,” Mr. Winter would start. “When we converted this house to our home, the school house was up on beams and I had to lower it onto the foundation. You know how I did that?” he’d ask with a sly grin. “Ice! I put huge blocks of ice under the house, then removed the beams. The ice melted and the house slowly lowered onto the foundation. The newspaper came and took pictures and everything!”

I must have heard that story 30 times, and I never ceased to be amazed at his ingenuity — another one of his great qualities. Whenever a new Meals on Wheels partner joined me on our route, I’d be sure to prompt Mr. Winter with a quick, “Tell them about the time you lowered the house.” That was all he needed to launch into the story of his glorious achievement.

At his funeral, one of Mr. Winter’s granddaughters said that he was a peaceful man who died peacefully — a remarkably beautiful thought during a remarkably difficult time. I think I’ll remember that line for a long time. We should all be so lucky to be remembered that way when our time comes.

Most of all, though, I’ll remember how Mr. Winter welcomed us into his home each week. “Oh, you brought the little guy!” Mr. Winter would laugh as I walked through the door with my son. “Oh, he’s a good little guy.” Then, my son — first at my prompting, then later on his own accord — would offer his little hand and the two would shake like best pals. Young hand and old hand. Generations connecting. That’s what it’s all about.

If any of this sounds familiar, you may have read Mitch Albom’s bestseller, Tuesdays with Morrie. It’s an excellent read about a young man spending time with an old man and learning some valuable lessons in the process. Well, Mitch had his Morrie and — fate being kind — my son and I had our Mr. Winter. I hope someday, someway you find a special person to share Tuesdays with, too.


Brian Kantz



		© 2008 Brian Kantz • All rights reserved • Contact Brian

	THE NEWBIE DAD - OCTOBER 2007 TUESDAYS WITH MR. WINTER Every Tuesday morning for the better part of the past two years, my son and I have driven Route 14 through the streets of Amherst, helping deliver lunches for Meals on Wheels. Now I have to admit that we have our own selfish reasons for volunteering. As a stay-at-home dad, I enjoy any chance to get outside the four walls of our house. My three-year-old son, on the other hand, is largely motivated by the animal crackers that he gets from the volunteer coordinator. But the real highlight for both of us has been our weekly visit with Mr. William Winter, one our Meals on Wheels “customers.” A true gentleman in every sense of the word, Mr. Winter passed away this summer and our route will never be the same. Mr. Winter was from a different era — a time when Amherst was more rural than suburban, a time when text messaging meant sending someone a carefully handwritten letter inside a stamped envelope. He had qualities that you don’t find in just anybody anymore. That’s why I loved to bring my son into Mr. Winter’s house, if just to stop and chat for a few minutes before heading off to our next stop. I guess I hoped that my son could learn something important from this man. As it turned out, I’m pretty sure we both learned something. Mr. Winter, who cut grass on his riding mower well into his eighties, was hardworking. Between toiling on his family farm and forging a career at Kenmore Builders, Mr. Winter helped his wife raise five children. I take it that he didn’t get a lot of sleep. He also mentioned that his late wife “had the ‘sugar,’ you know.” That was his old fashioned way of saying she had diabetes. At his funeral, I learned that Mr. Winter gave his wife exceptional, loving care in her final years. Now that’s hardworking. And he was a terrific storyteller. Mr. Winter could tell you stories for as long as you could listen. He’d tell you that he never wore gloves, even during the most frigid Buffalo winters. He’d tell you about the different animals that lived on the farm over the years and the different crops he grew. He’d tell you how he once got his wife out of a speeding ticket. “Oh, she had a real lead foot,” he’d chuckle. Like any good storyteller, he had his favorite tale. “This house was originally a school house and I went to school here and my teacher was my cousin,” Mr. Winter would start. “When we converted this house to our home, the school house was up on beams and I had to lower it onto the foundation. You know how I did that?” he’d ask with a sly grin. “Ice! I put huge blocks of ice under the house, then removed the beams. The ice melted and the house slowly lowered onto the foundation. The newspaper came and took pictures and everything!” I must have heard that story 30 times, and I never ceased to be amazed at his ingenuity — another one of his great qualities. Whenever a new Meals on Wheels partner joined me on our route, I’d be sure to prompt Mr. Winter with a quick, “Tell them about the time you lowered the house.” That was all he needed to launch into the story of his glorious achievement. At his funeral, one of Mr. Winter’s granddaughters said that he was a peaceful man who died peacefully — a remarkably beautiful thought during a remarkably difficult time. I think I’ll remember that line for a long time. We should all be so lucky to be remembered that way when our time comes. Most of all, though, I’ll remember how Mr. Winter welcomed us into his home each week. “Oh, you brought the little guy!” Mr. Winter would laugh as I walked through the door with my son. “Oh, he’s a good little guy.” Then, my son — first at my prompting, then later on his own accord — would offer his little hand and the two would shake like best pals. Young hand and old hand. Generations connecting. That’s what it’s all about. If any of this sounds familiar, you may have read Mitch Albom’s bestseller, Tuesdays with Morrie. It’s an excellent read about a young man spending time with an old man and learning some valuable lessons in the process. Well, Mitch had his Morrie and — fate being kind — my son and I had our Mr. Winter. I hope someday, someway you find a special person to share Tuesdays with, too.