Some consumers live their lives complaining, you know? Mr. Halvorsen was that person. Like clockwork, he would stumble into our café every Thursday morning, order the same black coffee and scrambled eggs, and scold me about everything from the music to the weather to the speed of the ceiling fans.
The other servers obviously detested serving him. I didn’t blame them, to be honest. However, I felt strangely protective of him for some reason. I would simply listen, smile, and refill his coffee. He would occasionally babble for twenty minutes at a time. At times, he appeared to be a million miles away as he sat there in silence.
His jacket smelled like woodsmoke, and he wore an old USS Lexington helmet, but that was about all I knew about him. He never discussed his family. Never brought up a wife or children. crumpled up dollar coins beneath his plate and complained about “how things used to be.”
Then he simply… failed to appear one morning.
A few weeks later, a man who appeared to be a lawyer entered the diner and asked for me. To be honest, I felt like I was in trouble. Then he gave me this envelope, though. There was a copy of Mr. Halvorsen’s will and a letter from him inside.
He left me $50,000, it turns out. as well as his vehicle.
I held that letter like it was on fire as I stood in the center of the diner. His first name was unknown to me.
And that wasn’t even the most absurd aspect of it.
Mr. Halvorsen, whose name was probably Theodore, had been living alone in a modest house on the outskirts of town, the lawyer added. No family to talk about. He parked the vehicle, an ancient but well-kept Ford Mustang, outside his house and gave me instructions to pick it up anytime I wanted. Additionally, a handwritten note in wobbly handwriting was found inside the envelope:
“I’m leaving if you’re reading this, whoever finds it. It should be obvious to you by now that I wasn’t always easy to get along with. In all honesty, there wasn’t much else in my life that was noteworthy. But when no one else cared, you—you showed me kindness. I may therefore make prudent use of the funds. Make the necessary repairs. Additionally, look for yourself.
My face was wet with tears by the time I had done reading. Like I had won the lotto, everyone at the diner had gathered around me, whispering and staring at me. which I suppose I had, in a sense.
I drove out to Mr. Halvorsen’s house that evening after shutting my store. It was a small white home encircled by overgrown bushes and a failing fence, just as he had mentioned in passing during one of his tirades. Despite its age, his automobile was shining in the moonlight as it sat in the driveway. I just stood there for a second, feeling like I couldn’t handle it all.
I discovered additional surprises waiting for me when I eventually entered. Like someone who hadn’t anticipated company in years, the apartment was tidy but empty. Another mail, addressed to me, was on the kitchen table. This one has a brief message and a key to a storage facility downtown:
“You ought to see something else.”
I went to the storage unit the following day after work. Everything changed because of what I discovered there.
A number of boxes containing pictures, letters, and other souvenirs from what appeared to be decades ago were found within. Images of a young Theodore standing proudly on board the USS Lexington in a Navy uniform were displayed. A person named Margaret was the recipient of faded letters that were fastened with twine. Additionally, there was an old wooden chest hidden in the unit’s corner.
I decided to open it out of sheer curiosity. Dozens of journals with dates spanning almost fifty years were carefully labeled within. I discovered as I turned the pages that they were filled with tales of hope, regret, love, and loss. While some entries were sweet, others were furious. Numerous people brought up Margaret, a woman he obviously loved very much. But the tone changed at the conclusion. The entries grew sadder and shorter until they ceased entirely around ten years ago.
I had an epiphany. His true love must have been Margaret. Perhaps she died. They may have drifted away. Whatever transpired, it left him irreparably damaged. Suddenly, all of those complaints about “how things used to be” made sense. He was grieving, not only whining.
I went through each notebook over the course of the following few weeks. I couldn’t stop, even though it seemed inappropriate and nearly intrusive. I had only ever known the man as a grumpy diner regular, but every page told me more about him. I discovered his aspirations to pursue a career in writing, his loneliness following his discharge from the Navy, and his silent deeds of kindness toward people in need.
I was really struck by one of the entries. It was dated a few months before to his death and said:
“Margaret would despise the person I’ve turned into. Kindness was the most important thing, she always emphasized. I’ve been trying to keep that in mind lately. Even if it’s only to purchase coffee for the waitress who tolerates my rambling.
That statement really got to me. Mr. Halvorsen had been attempting to pay tribute to Margaret’s memory in his own obstinate manner. Unbeknownst to me, I had inadvertently joined that endeavor.
I made the decision to change things with the inheritance, not only for myself but also for other people. I helped my mom fix her roof, paid off my student bills, and gave some of the proceeds to a local veterans’ organization. Then I took a surprising step and began volunteering at a senior facility close to the diner.
I wasn’t sure why I was doing it at first. However, as I listened to the inhabitants’ experiences for longer, I started to make sense of them. These folks made me think of Mr. Halvorsen—lonely, unnoticed, but wise and kind. Like him, they needed someone to listen to them.
I met Evelyn one day when I was planning a book drive for the center. Her laugh brightened the room, and she was warm and witty. Our love of horrible jokes and classic classics brought us together right away. In one conversation, she said she used to know a sailor named Theodore.
A beat skipped in my chest. “Halvorsen, Theodore?” I inquired.
Her gaze expanded. Indeed! Are you acquainted with him?
After a moment of hesitation, I showed her one of the pictures I had discovered in the storage unit. She reached for her mouth. “That’s him,” she said in a whisper. “Goodness, it’s been years since I’ve given him any thought.”
Although their paths diverged after Margaret entered the scene, Evelyn told me that she and Theodore had been good friends throughout their Navy days. He was described by her as “a good man who carried too much pain.” She gave me a kind smile when I informed her about the journals. He had a lifelong dream of writing a book. I suppose he finally found his way.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Halvorsen’s last deed of generosity in the months that followed. He had the option of leaving his money to me or to no one at all. Why? since I paid attention. Because even when he was aloof or impolite, I continued to turn up week after week. And because I somehow reminded him of Margaret’s conviction that the most important thing is compassion.
I came to the crucial realization that we can never be fully aware of the influence we have on other people. To one person, a simple gesture, a smile, or a listening ear may seem little, but to another, they could mean the world.
The lesson I learned from all of this is as follows: Show kindness even when it’s difficult. Even if someone doesn’t make it simple, show up for them. You never know who you might influence or how you could influence someone else.
Please tell this story to someone who needs a reminder of the strength of compassion if you found it enjoyable. And do share your tale in the comments if you have ever encountered an instance of unanticipated kindness.
