Stories of Kindness from Around the World

This was a wonderful experience. It happened about three years ago and it has had a strong impact on me. I would like to pay tribute here to two men I do not know personally but whose actions gave a new meaning to the words kindness and generosity.

I was walking down a busy street in the financial district on a cold, windy day in early winter. A barefoot homeless man, probably about 60, was begging for change on a street corner.

A BMW pulled up on the other side of the street and stopped and an immaculately dressed executive stepped out of the car.  He was a tall, slim and imposing gentleman with silver harid, he was probably about 60 yrs old.  He was wearing a blue pinstriped business suit, deep red silk tie, white shirt, mirror-shined black shoes,  silver wristwatch, black overcoat, leather gloves, the works. Dapper, dignified, distinguished.

He walked briskly and puposefully across the street and over to the homeless man, his perfectly polished black shoes clicking smartly on the concrete and shining in the winter sun.  Without saying anything, he knelt down, took off his gloves, and then untied and stepped out of those beautiful black leather shoes. He picked up them up and handed them to the homeless man.

The homeless man took them and stared with an open mouth. The executive turned and started back to the car, then stopped in the middle of the street and turned back.

He reached up under the cuffs of his pinstriped suit trousers, peeled down his black dress socks one at a time and pulled them off his feet.. He held the long, thin socks out to the homeless man - who took them.

"I almost forgot.. These go with the shoes",  the executive said, matter-of-factly. "They're not very warm. They're really meant for the office. But the shoes will hurt your feet without them."

The executive, now barefoot in that pinstriped business suit, looked down and smiled slightly with a startled, self-conscious look: the contrast between his clean white feet and his impeccable dark business suit and tie and heavy wool overcoat and starched shirt and his precise corporate haircut now looked slightly ridiculous.

It was undeniable: he looked less dignified and distinguished and much less dapper. His perfect image and persona were no longer intact. But his character shone through.

The wind picked up. The unforgiving urban concrete must have been freezing under the soles and heels unaccustomed to being exposed and divested of footwear on a cold day in the midst of the financial district.

Suddenly the executive and the homeless man shared that same exposure to the elements - but the homeless man was now in possession of the shoes that would provide protection. The executive had surrendered his ownership to the homeless man, and it was he who stood there now unprotected and vulnerable.

He pulled on his leather gloves, pulled the collar of his black overcoat up against the chill wind and cantered quickly back across the street to his sleek and shining car, the crisp, sharp click of his former shoes replaced now by the silent pad of his bare soles.

I then noticed something that I have thought of many times since that day: the silver-haired executive's walk was now quite different.  While he still wore those shining shoes, his walk was commanding and authoritative - a brisk, even and confident stride.

The impressive sound of his shoes announced his coming and reflected the confidence he exuded.  But after taking them off, his walk was reduced to a silent, unassuming, humbled sprint across the street, as he glanced at the traffic on either side.  He was not one of the elite now. He was vulnerable.

He took out his the keys to his car and dropped them. He was the subject of several curious onlookers - including me - but he never looked up as he retreieved them and opened the door.

His shoes were more than protection against the cold and the ground: they were symbols of the executive's prestige and success and status.  Now they belonged to the homeless man, and their former owner seemed transformed by his own kindness - less powerful and impressive, perhaps, yet more accessible and humble.  His presence seemed more gentle.

As he drove off, I couldn't help thinking that it was probably the first time he had pressed the pedal of that top-of-the-line BMW with a bare foot!

I stood there and exchanged looks of astonishment with the homeless man.

“He just gave me his shoes and socks. Right off his feet. A guy like that” he whispered. "But what’s he gonna do now? He can’t go to his fancy job and his big office in his bare feet!” he said, still in awe.

Then he tried to joke about it: “I missed my big chance, you know! I should have asked him for that fancy suit of his, too, while he was giving away his things. And that nice necktie, and maybe he'd gimme his watch. I could sell it!" he laughed.

But he was crying.

The homeless man looked at the shoes with fascination; they obviously belonged in a boardroom or a conference - or a BMW - rather than to the harsh world of the street.  But they were his now. He looked inside the shoes and examined them carefully. They were new. There was no wear on the soles and heels. He was their new owner. He lifted them up with pride.

“Size 9 and a half” he muttered. “Just my size. How did he know? Maybe they’ll bring me luck.”

Maybe they will. There is an old saying that walking in the 'shoes of a successful man will bring success'. That was meant symbolically. In this case it was literally true.

Two men of about the same age but with very different lives had met and the one who was successful in material terms had offered more than his shoes. He had temporarily left his BMW - his gleaming protected fortress of elite privelege - and he had stepped down from his high position and lifted up the other man when he offered respect and kindness and real generosity.