LYLE J. RAPACHI Ph.D.

Thanks again to Kelleigh Nelson for sending this eminently pertinent article through. Kelleigh sent it with the introductory note below:

I’VE READ THIS STORY BEFORE, BUT I WANT YOU ALL TO READ IT TOO.  THIS KIND OF THING WAS OUR TRUE AMERICA…WE ARE LOSING HER.  IF YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO HELP SOMEONE ELSE, DO IT, EVEN ANONYMOUSLY IF YOU HAVE TO.  MAKE SOMEONE SMILE OR HELP SOMEONE WHO NEEDS IT.  EVERYONE ON MY MAIN EMAIL LIST IS LIKE THIS, GOOD, HONEST, DECENT, KIND HEARTED AND LOVING AMERICANS.  Nothing we have belongs to us, it belongs to the Lord who blessed us. And we certainly can’t take it with us…so share where you can.  The Lord will bless you heartedly for taking care of His other children when they need help.

To read a bit about Lyle J. Rapacki Ph.D. click on his name at the top of his article.

Gibber! Gibber!

Chugley

Who is your true self ?

Lyle J. Rapacki, Ph.D.

Sep 26, 2025

I was privileged to have taught at two universities. I pray I left my students much more than merely the academics required for the course. One such teaching is a quote that sits on my desk in front of me that sat on Abraham Lincoln’s desk in the Oval, and again on Ronald Reagan’s Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. “There is No limit to what a man can do or where he can go if he doesn’t mind who gets the credit.”

Another teaching I shared in various ways through the semester was this: “Create the kind of self you will be happy to live with all of your life. That kindness is far more important than intellect and wisdom, and the recognition of this is actually the beginning of wisdom.”

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The following is a true story that clearly demonstrates what I already shared about kindness and lack of self-promotion. So when was the last time you had the privilege of providing a ride to someone, providing assistance unexpectedly to another, even so much as simply opening a door to allow someone else to go first? Our world is crumbling but each of us, yes, each of us still has the privilege of giving a ride to someone in one form or another.

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes, I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away but instead, I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. “Just a minute” answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. Then the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it like somebody out of a 1940’s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years, and all the furniture was covered with sheets. There was no clock on the wall, no knickknacks or utensils on the counter, and in the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she asked. I took the suitcase to the cab then returned to assist the woman. She was waiting for me at the front door, took my arm and we walked slowly to the cab. She kept thanking me for my kindness. I replied, “it’s nothing, I am simply treating my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.” She replied, “Oh, you’re such a good boy.” When we got into the cab, she gave me an address and then asked if I could simply drive through downtown? I replied, “that is not the shortest way.” She said she didn’t mind, and added, “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.” I looked in the rear-view mirror, her eyes were glistening with tears, and she quietly said, “I don’t have any family left. The doctor told me I don’t have very long to live.” I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

For the next two hours we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she would ask me to go slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness saying nothing. As the sun was now formally setting, she said it was fine now to go to the hospice building.

We drove in silence for a while, and upon arriving two orderlies met us and helped her from the cab. They were solicitous, intent but kind watching her every move. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door for her. The elderly lady was already seated in a wheelchair. “How much do I owe you” she asked, reaching into her purse. “Nothing,” I said. “But you have to make a living,” she answered. I smiled most intently and said, “There are other passengers, and I truly enjoyed the tour.” Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug to which she held onto me tightly. Looking me directly in the eyes, she said, “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy…thank you.” I squeezed her hand and held it for a moment and then walked into the night back to my cab. Behind me I heard the door shut and thought it was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up another passenger that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For hours I could not talk and even fought a tear or two. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take that call or had honked once and then driven away? I pulled over to catch my breath and wipe a tear away. I also had the thought that I had not done anything more important in my life then what I just accomplished.

We’re conditioned to think our lives revolve around great moments, major public displays. But I had just experienced a great moment that caught me unaware and beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small, even boring event. I was, indeed, blessed to have been such a small part of such a major event in the life of another.

I pray you may have the privilege or similar to what I just shared.

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