Leadership Journal

The other morning I headed for the Egg Shell restaurant just down the road from our home to join a friend for breakfast. My PDA scheduled us for 7a.m; but his, I later learned, said 7:30. Result? I had a half hour to drink coffee and observe life around me.

Sitting at 2 or 3 shoved together tables not far from my booth were ten baseball capped men in working clothes and mud-caked boots. The same group is always there whenever I breakfast at the Egg Shell. They sit shoulder to shoulder saying little to each other. Mainly, they read their copies of the New Hampshire Union Leader and shovel down omelets and home fries.

I once asked Cindy, a server at the Egg Shell, who they were. She said they were retired guys who had met for breakfast for years. "They're like a bunch of brothers," she added. "They do lots of stuff together." She didn't say what the stuff was.

When these mostly non-verbal men finished their breakfasts, they paid their bills, grabbed their coats and grunted goodbyes to Cindy. Some of them even give her a "sisterly" hug. I could see why she likened them to a band of brothers. As they passed my booth, I said, "Make the world a better place today, guys." One of them responded, "Great idea. We'll do it."

Two women (middle aged) were at another table. Unlike the men, they were spirited talkers, their conversation bouncing between laughter and whispered confidentialities. When they finished eating and started for the door, one called out to Gloria, the other server, "Behave yourself, Gloria. But if you decide not too, it won't matter much." This breezy goodbye tickled me because—and I mean no disrespect—Gloria doesn't look like the kind of person who would misbehave even if she had the opportunity. It was clear that the comment was an indication of affection between people who share a lot of history together.

When Gloria started to refill my coffee cup, I asked, "Known them for a long time?"

"Neighbors," she said. "One of them may lose her home. We're pretty shook about it."

"She's fortunate to have friends like you," I responded.

"Well, we're going to have to stick close to her."

In one of the booths was a woman with a boy I guessed to be about 8 years old. She talked while he ate. My sense? She was a fretful single mother in the process of taking her son to school and then heading for her day job. Their clothing suggested financial austerity. Her facial expression hinted at deep motherly concern about something going on between them, and she was trying to talk it through. His body language said, Get this over with so I can get out of here. How hard it must be for both of them, I thought, to keep life steady and keep it whole.

I prayed for them.

Since I was sitting by the front window of the Egg Shell, I was able to see a van pull into one of the parking spaces. A small-built man (80, maybe) got out, opened the back door and unloaded a wheel chair. Then, sliding back the side door, he began operating a hydraulic lift that allowed a disabled passenger (obviously his wife) to exit the van and, holding on to him, settle into the chair.

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