A janitor who made a difference

“When I grow up, I want to be a janitor,” said no kid ever.

My brother was a janitor for most of his adult life. For several schools, a church, Walmart, a hospital. He was good at it. He took a lot of pride in his work, to the point where, in his mind, those facilities became his. He treated his position in his workplace as he would have had he been the owner of that building.

He told me once he really had wanted to be a cook, but his colorblindness waylaid that ambition when he entered the U.S. Army at the age of 19. They told him he wouldn’t be able to tell by color if meat was spoiled. And they couldn’t trust smell alone to clue him in the event he had a cold or other circumstance where his sense of smell was impaired. So, they made him a diesel mechanic, which morphed into a track mechanic for tanks, which turned into tank recovery from the war games field. So, essentially, motor pool. He was stationed in Fort Knox, Kentucky.

He drank a lot of coffee and waited to be called to the war games field and drive or winch tanks off the muddied field and put them away. I believe the tanks during that time frame would have been the Abrams. I just can’t picture my brother driving a tank, his head poking out of the scuttle hole of a hulking machine. But he did. I’m sure he smiled the whole time and took a lot of pride in doing a good job. Because, well, that tank, in his mind, would have been his tank.

Ownership. Maybe that was the key to executing his job to the best of his ability. As a janitor, he took schooling for floor care, boiler care and all kinds of building care. When he worked at Cody’s Walmart, those floors shined like mirrors. I could tell when I shopped where he’d done the floors. And where he hadn’t. Kent’s perfection in doing his job was undeniably linked to his feelings of ownership of the facility, building or store. He gave his all.  

His dedication to the building extended to customer service. At the church, he was known for helping the women’s circles set up for various functions, carried many a heavy casserole from cars to the downstairs kitchen, opened doors for people coming and going and ushered at Sunday services. He even let the church’s preschool class shave his face with shaving cream and popsicle sticks. At Walmart, he helped shoppers, making sure they knew where to look for the freshest bananas, or aimed them to the right area of the store for items they were struggling to find. He and the crew fed part of their lunches to the feral cats that roamed the area behind the store. I’m surprised he didn’t try to take one home. At the schools, he was known for his smile and quick laugh, by faculty and students. This was more than a job for him, it was an extension of his home.

He had this practice of arriving to work an hour before his shift began. He’d have a cup of coffee, settle in, chat with coworkers or just people watch for that hour. He often finished his tasks and then helped other employees on his shift finish theirs. He enjoyed his work most days. He got satisfaction in doing the job right. And he abhorred the need of some co-workers to hide or otherwise shirk their work.

In a world where ‘Help Wanted’ signs abound, there are too few people willing to work. Some have a laundry list of conditions they expect an employer to provide them right out the gate. I don’t think a work ethic can be taught. You either have one or  you don’t. My brother had his work ethic, for the most part, down pat.

I’m sure in his corner of Heaven the clouds gleam bright. Everything shines. Especially his smile. I miss that goofy grin.