What is the nicest thing...

Ive surprised myself that I cant actually think of anything!What a shame.

Oh tons of nice things.

I'll have to think of some of the nicest and get back to you.

I think this is going to be a lovely thread.

What a way to honor the stranger who went out of his/her way for even a moment.

I'll be back.

Isnt it awful that this ones a toughy.Ive been trying to think of things other than someone holding a door open for me but I cnat think of anything.

One that springs to mind straight away........


About 1980, my old banger of a car broke down miles from home and it was raining.

While I had the bonnet (hood) up and was tinkering, my wife was in the back seat, trying to calm our screaming one year old son. A car stopped nearby and a man (40ish) got out and asked if he could help. He spotted my wife and son, and immediately went back to get his wife.
She arrived on the scene and offered to take my wife and son to their house, which was nearby.

She then drove off with my little family, after the man had got his toolbox out of their boot (trunk).

He spent a good half an hour under the bonnet, getting soaked in the process, before getting the engine to start. I then drove the man to his house, thinking that I would then pick up my wife and son and go home.
We walked in, dripping wet, to find that his wife had made a big tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea.

She then produced a brand new shirt, still in the packet, and gave it to me to change into.

My son had gone to sleep on their couch, my wife had already been fed and the lady had given her a large home made cake to take back with us.

They refused my offer of payment, saying that they had once been given help in a similar situation, and were only too happy to pay it back by helping us.
We sent them a thank you card soon after, and we have been swapping christmas cards ever since. They're in their 70's now, and seem to be enjoying life, as they are always putting notes in the cards, telling us about various cruises and touring holidays. We, in turn, give them photos and progress reports regarding our son.

I hope they have many more years together. Lovely couple.

I think my heart just melted.

Wow, that's a beautiful story, LordE!

Great idea for a thread, Bohne.

This is fairly random, brought to mind by just seeing C.I.'s pictures of dolphins at the Shedd Acquarium on the Chicago gathering thread.

We were in Chicago last December and went to the Shedd on its free day. The trip was a financial stretch for us, so the free day was a real boon. We used to live in Chicago and would go to the Shedd fairly often, and sozlet (5 at the time) was super excited about going back. When we moved (when she was 3.5) we talked a lot about how we'd go back to visit, we weren't leaving forever, etc. This was our first visit back.

We went to all of the regular exhibits at the Shedd and then wanted to see the dolphins, always her favorite. There was a cordon and a guard person at that section -- uh-oh, dolphins weren't free. I asked how much, and it was WAY more than I expected (about $25 I think) and just not affordable. I sighed and kneeled down to explain to sozlet, who was trying to be brave about it but was very, very upset. Before I had gotten a few words into it the guard got my attention and asked, "Is it just the two of you?" I said yes, and she gave a "go on in" motion with her head and undid the cordon. I gawked for an instant and she made the motion a little more emphatically, and sozlet and I grinned and said "Thank you!!!!" and rushed in and took a seat just as the dolphin show was starting. So sweet.

What great stories, LordE and soz!

When I was a photography student in Chicago I would on occassion have to haul around way too much equipment, some of it quite bulky and impossible to disguise.

One day a couple of kids followed me off the train. Weighted down with all this crud there was no way I could just ditch them so I hobbled along down the platform, down the stairs, through the station and out onto the street underneath the wide bridge of the train tracks.

The guys were closing in. I was carrying a hefty tripod over my shoulder so I was preparing to turn and throw it at them in hopes of distracting them enough to let me get out from under the bridge, into relative safety, with my cameras intact. Just as I was starting to turn and toss a car pulled up and a 40ish sort of man said "There you are! Get in!" just like we were dear friends. I looked at the would be theives and looked at the driver, threw my gear into the car and climbed in.

He drove me a couple of blocks, pulled over, told me to be careful and then he was on his way. I was still so stunned that I don't recall if I even said thank you.

I still have that tripod Mr. 57th street station driver guy. Thank you!

I can't say... totally inappropriate...

Lots of nice things small things. But one in particular comes to mind - especially because in a crowded city during rush hour - people tend to be mean. One extremely hot and humid day when I was very pregnant and taking the subway - this women comes running up to me as I walk onto the platform - she sort of took me under her wing. She demanded that I sit down on one of the few benches available. When the train pulled in she ran onto it, pretty much pushing people out of the way and held a seat for me - again demanding that I sit down.

This is much different than the usual reception I would get on public transportation - where in one case I was pushed on the stairs by a rushing rider while pregnant. And in another threatened to be pushed in front of a train (not while pregnant at least).

Thanks to my Family Curse and a genetic bone weakness, I spend a lot of time on crutches. The kindness of strangers is a wonderful thing.

One of my favorite memories was hobbling down the stacks in the public library, trying to pick out books. Managing both the crutches and the stack of books was beyond me and the books cascaded to the floor.

A pair of ten year old girls rushed over, picked up the books and offered to follow after me, carrying new selections.

They accepted gratitude, but no money.

Various female strangers have allowed me to go home with them and violate their private parts.

Always a good time.

I was hitch-hiking east from Albuquerque, New Mexico once't, and had the most extraordinary experience. A gentleman in an old, beaten-up truck stopped, and offered me a lift. He asked where i wanted to go, and i told him that if he could drop me off at the I-40 interchange, that would be great (i was going south on I25 at the time). He said, sure, that he was headed out of the city on I40. He drove onto I40 heading east, and after about ten miles, said he was exiting--at which point i thanked him. He asked if i had money. He didn't look like he had that much, and i did have some cash, so i thanked him and no-thanked him. He then asked when i'd last eaten. I told him i'd had my lunch and that i was carrying non-perishable food (i was always a well-prepared hitchhiker). He then just flatly invited me to dinner at his house. I was a little sceptical, but he seemed a decent, gentle sort, so i agreed. He drove up into the mountains to his home. His home was based around a little bungalow, really a glorified shack, to which he had added new rooms, and which he had renovated extensively. His wife, with their two daughters (about four and six) and his toddler son, were in the kitchen, canning some thirty bushels of tomatoes (no exaggeration)--they were making tomato sauce and ketchup. He lead me out back, where he had three milch cows in milk, and a small herd of goats, the nannies of which were also in milk. He had about a dozen steers, for which he provided some feed, and otherwise grazed. (In New Mexico, you need several acres to graze a steer even in the best regions--his grazing land was prime, though, he had a BLM permit, and grazed his steers on hundreds of acres of Federal land. He fed them at night so they'd come back in the evening, when he could put the in the corral to keep them safe.)

He refused my offers to help him with the chores, just asking me to keep him company. Those were in the bad old days, when i was more or less a druggy, and we were constantly smoking big spliffs, which he also produced on BLM land. He said he had little patches all over, so he didn't care if he got ripped off, or the Feds burned it. He also said he sold a little, but only to folks he personally knew, for his "walkin' around money." The steers are cash on the hoof--when he needed a cash infusion, he could sell one or more of them. He used the manure from the cows, steers and goats on his truck garden, in which he grew nearly all the vegetables his family ate. They occassionally butchered an animal, and he hunted. They were about as self-sufficient as you could imagine a family to be in this day and age. He worked on his own hook in Albuquerque as a handy-man and "landscaper" (i.e., he mowed lawns and trimmed shrubbery). He arose at dawn each day, fed the animals, turned the steers out the BLM land, and did any heavy chores around the garden or barn which needed doing. His wife took care of everything else. They cooked dinner together that night, and the girls took care of setting the table, and doing the dishes after. His oldest daugher was required to tell him what she had learned in school that day, and to do her lessons in his presence after dinner. The four-year-old was eager to join in, and confidentially assured me that she would be a big girl next year, and would then go to school. The dinner was as much food as i could eat, simple, and well-prepared from first-class ingredients.

The following day, he took me back to I40, and drove east about fifteen miles, saying there was an exit he could take to get to the job he was doing that day. He tried to press some cash on me again, which i refused. He gave me about an ounce of good reefer, to which i proferred no demure. He also gave me about a pound and a half of beef which he had jerked and dried himself, and which he said he ate during the day rather than carrying a lunch which needed refrigeration. It lasted me about four days.

What he gave me was not monetarily extensive, but it was very generous, by any standards, let alone the mostly finance-free life style he enjoyed with his family. His grandfather had left him the land, and he had done much with it. The most important thing he gave me was the memory of a very happy, quiet and contented family, truly living the good life. I met a lot of weirdos while hitchhiking, but i also met a lot of decent, kind and generous people (Iowa's the best state to hitch in, by the way). He was the most extraordinary. That was more than twenty years ago, those children are doubtless grown and have children of their own. He'd be in his late forties by now. That man had as good a life as i've ever seen anyone living.

It was in the summer of 1984. My husband and I were on vacation, driving south from Washington D.C. on our way to Charlottesville. It was a hot August evening, when the heat and humidity both hover around 90. Our car overheated at a rest stop outside Fredericksburg. My husband thought he'd loosen the radiator cap just a little to relieve the pressure, but as soon as he touched it, it exploded like a champagne cork. The steam hit him full in the chest, burning him and knocking him backwards onto the pavement.

While I stood there in complete shock, people began running at us from all directions. Cars stopped. One couple took an ice chest from their car, soaked my husband's T-shirt and told him to put it back on. Another happened to have first aid cream and a full box of bandages. They wouldn't even let me help. They gave me a cold drink and made me sit down.

Someone in a pickup truck called the highway patrol, and an officer was there within five minutes. Before he even talked to us, he called his buddy at a local repair shop who sent a wrecker out to tow our car to his shop. The patrolman put the two of us in his car and drove us to the closest emergency room. Then he sat with us all the time they worked on about a dozen third degree burns on my husband's chest and arms. Once he was given pain medicine and pronounced "good to go," the patrolman took us to a nearby motel and told the manager he wanted their best room. He gave the manager his own credit card, saying, "They're my guests."

The next day, while the repair shop looked for a part our car needed, we did a little sightseeing around Fredericksburg. To our surprise, there was much worth seeing there, and all the people we met treated us like family.

Two days later when we picked up the car (with a brand-new thermostat), the guy at the repair shop only charged us for the part, no labor. "You look like good folks, and we want you to come back," he said.

We did.

Nice stories here. I still think the majority of people are good but in these days you just never know. My story, like a few others, also deals with car troubles.

My sister, her boyfriend and I were on our way from Chicago to Carbondale IL (around a 6 hour drive). My alternator blew somewhere around around Mount Vernon which is a good hour or so away from carbondale. I pulled over to the side of the road and we bundled up and started walking. We were going down for a Superbowl party so it was January, it was cold, it was dark and damp.

We must have looked like a couple hoodlums all dressed up in hooded sweatshirts, stocking caps and stuff. I think we counted around 125 cars and trucks that passed before this nice couple pulled over and offerd us a ride. We thought they were only going to take us to the next exit/gas station, but, as they explained, had kids of their own and would hope if they were in our situation somebody would stop for them. So we swung by their house which was about 15 minutes away to drop off the wife who had just gotten off of her third shift job, and the husband continued to drive us all the way to Carbondale and dropped us off right at my friends front door.

It must have been at least 45 minutes each way out of his way. Very nice couple who saved us a lot of trouble and were trusting enough to stop and help out three strangers. I certainly hope karma paid them back for me.

Wow, those are some stories.

Hitchhiking's a great way to retrieve your trust in mankind. I used to have a lover in Germany, but back when we first met she lived all the way across in Bavaria. This being before they came up with the Schoenes Wochenende ticket, I hitchhiked there a coupla times before she moved.

Thing is it was too far to make it in one day. Been waiting around in Duesseldorf from 2 to 6, its no fun. But another time, when two guys gave me a ride from the reggea festival we'd been at, back to somewhere near Frankfurt, one of 'em invited me over & I slept at his place, till he brought me out to the freeway again the next morning.

That was on the way back; on the way there, it was after midnight by the time I reached Berlin (better to go over Berlin than get stuck in the Ruhr). Truckdriver was giving me a ride. He asked me where I was staying & I said I'd still be trying to move on, and he talked me out of it. He said, I'm returning from delivery now; there's nothing in there - the huge cargo space of the truck. He parked the truck not far from the highway by Steglitz, uncoupled the whole thing, and drove home in the rump front part (sorry, my English doesnt cover this kind of thing) - you know, the cabin. I slept in this huge, empty, cargo trailer thing, climbed out in the morning, and was in Bavaria by 11 or so.

----

But there was arguably more spectacular hospitality when my mom and I were travelling in Zimbabwe, and wanted to get out into the beautiful Bvumba (?) Mountains (too long ago to remember for sure the exact name). We travelled from Harare to Mutare by bus, stayed the night in a hotel that turned out to otherwise rent out its rooms by the hour, and the next morning found out that there were no buses up that day. So we hitchhiked.

We got a ride pretty far up, halfway there, then were out by the road for a fairly long time, with no cars whatsoever passing. Two black women walked by, carrying things up on their head, and said, where you going? Up to Bvumba, we said. Oh, we too, walk along with us! We looked at each other, cause Bvumba was still a long way up. You're going to Bvumba? Yes, we are! When will you arrive? Tonight! When did you leave? This morning at five!

So we walked along with them. My mother, asking whether they werent tired, triggered a sing-song answer, about Jesus, or the Lord - either. I don't need to be tired, cause when I'm tired, Jesus will rest me. I don't need to be hungry, cause when I'm hungry, Jesus will feed me. I dont need to be thirsty ... they were singing, and kept singing for the next half an hour.

Then a car passed, saw us, and stopped. Now this is to show you that some folks, they can be the kindest on one side of their face, the harshest on the other. The (white) woman inside offered us a ride, generously, kindly. We pointed at the black women but no, not gonna take them. We looked at the women and they said, go on, take the ride! So we did, anyway.

The woman was very kind. Pointing out we werent gonna make it up to Bvumba that day, she drove us to their place. Ranch. Vaguely gesturing to the lands outside, she explained, this side of the mountain is ours. They had a big farm out there, and her husband was also the chief of the country's main canned fruit company or the like. Huge place.

Thing is it was right out, off down a sideroute, and was located exactly on the Mozambique border. Back then, it was Zimbabwe that was stable and relatively OK-off, and Mozambique that was a hellhole suffering through a decade of civil war. To the back of their house was the swimming pool. Behind it, a tennis court. But if balls veered the wrong way, she laughed, they were gone, cause right behind the edge of it was the border, and beyond it landmines littered the hill.

She showed us the view that night - not long after - a very dark night. Rural Zimbabwe is dark at night but over there it seemed there was really nothing. There were villages down below there in the valley, but only in a few scattered places could you see a pinpoint of fire (no electric light). But sound, there was! Drums from down in the valley, all evening. From different places, somewhere down in the dark.

The rancher couple was very friendly. They showed us the comfortable guests quarters. The next morning, there was extensive breakfast. The (black) servants who stood at attention and brought and took away plates and drinks, however, were barked at by our kind host, because our plates werent properly pre-warmed. We didnt speak much.

Afterwards, the lady drove us back out to the main road - a fair distance (an hour? two?). We got a ride up to Bvumba (or whatever the place was called) quite quickly then, from an extremely friendly man who ran a modest guesthouse+farm up there, where we stayed. A man who was also friendly to his (black) employees - my mom still wrote to him, afterwards. But she also sent a thank-you card to the ranchers.

Well, I've just come back to this thread and have read it all, whilst listening to the mellow end of some Led Zep and Deep Purple. At present, "When a blind man cries" is about half way through. What a fantastic song.

Great thread, which has put me in just the right sort of warm inside mood to toddle off to bed. (11.20ish PM here)

Thanks, folks.

I'll no doubt be back here soon, after the cat has jumped on my chest in about four hours time, but hey, who cares?.....I'm mellow, man.

G'night all.

Most recent one: I've been sick as hell and stressed, eating godawfully for weeks. A new friend from the theatre cooked some chicken and rice and brought it in before the show in a tupperware. Just like that. With a little flower. Neat.

Nimh.... prime mover and trailer would do

Hhmmmmm.... but would he count as "a stranger"?

(Thanks Dadpad!)