Happy Jimmy

           James Spano is a subordinate of mine at a local tire factory. He toils tirelessly every day and is thankful for the opportunity. Where others complain about the heat, noise and poor air quality, he shows up and greets me with, “Howdy boss! How’re we doin’?” He tries as hard as he can to do a good job. He asks straightforward, simple questions and offers good, practical suggestions. If he makes a mistake, he takes responsibility and tries to make it right, willing to accept any disciplinary action that may come. He talks about current events and his family functions without spreading the insensitive gossip as most others do. Do I admire him because he’s an ideal worker? That’s part of it. Besides suffering from many physical ailments accrued from thirty years of hard work, his diabetes compounds these problems and affects his vision. To top it all off, Mr. Spano is illiterate. It’s difficult to imagine going through life without this seemingly mandatory ability to read and write. Somehow, against the odds, he has coped with this huge disadvantage all these years and arrived at the doorstep of retirement. This amazes me and I feel he is deserving of my reverence just by being his simple, jovial self.

          James has a non-threatening look about him with a long, welcoming face, usually showing an unassuming expression. His rather large head nicely supports the big safety goggles propped on his over-sized nose and ears. He trudges along with poor posture, hunched over as his head faces the ground ahead of him. His arms are slightly bent and swing by his side as his palms face to the rear as if he’s pushing the air behind him, assisting his purposeful gait. This makes him appear shorter than his 5’9” frame. He’s somewhat proud of his full head of dark, curly hair highlighted with only a few streaks of gray. The pitch of his voice is a touch high, which adds to his calm demeanor and makes it easy to assess any change in his mood.

            Although he’s a cooperative worker, supervising Jimmy can be a challenge. I have to plan and communicate his daily assignments to him and alert him of any change in the schedule, which occurs frequently during the shift. I can’t simply jot down a list to start him off nor can I explain too many tasks at once. With all the noise, I’m unable to use the department sign language that has evolved among the rest of us. Jimmy just doesn’t catch on and prefers, or exclusively uses, the spoken language. He needs me to be there, one on one, to convey the message verbally, the only way he has ever known. The rest of the crew realize this and support me by allowing me to spend more time with him. They tend to hold on to their minor problems until I have more time to address them. Most of the experienced workers contribute, in their own small way, to assist Jimmy through the day safely while affording him his accomplishments. I sense the conspicuous compassion in this harsh, cut-throat environment and it gives me a good feeling along with an understanding of how our unique coworker has survived this long. This helps me deal with my occasional frustration. With Jimmy, a little patience goes a long way.