My friend Anna, the Latino Joan of Arc, walking down Madison Avenue, spots a well dressed man on the ground slumped against the side of an apartment building. Mind you it’s the shank of the morning, dozens of commuters flying by, but Anna, true to form, is the only one who stops.
Now in her 50s, raising a son all by herself ironing shirts for the rich, she presently works in a high end gourmet shop charming everyone she meets.
She’s one of the kindest, noblest people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.
That said, she kneels by the man who’s all but losing consciousness realizing, he’s had a heart attack. After calling 911, she knows enough to keep him talking, asking in her stilted English, did he have children, grandchildren, what were their names…how old were they?
When the EMS workers come and ask, how did she know to do that, Anna says…
“Law een Order.” (I just love that)
Later on, at the hospital, bribing the guard at reception with cookies, finds out who the man is because she wants to make sure he’s alright.
She walks into his room where he’s awake, tubes everywhere flanked by family and asks, how he is.
“Who the hell are you?” he snaps, telling you he wasn’t exactly Mr. Rogers.
“I find you, on the sidewalk,” Anna says, “I call 911. Just come to see if you are fine.”
“Oh, so you came to collect a reward, is that it?”
Now believe me, the last thing on Anna’s mind is money, so when he bellows…
WHERE’S MY CHECK BOOK…
she runs out the door.
The wife, upset, comes out apologizing for her husband, but Anna stops her and says, “No matter ma’am, as long as he’s okee. God eez’ so good.”
I ask you.