The best boss I ever had
“My friend Veronica often said she would send somebody good to watch over me, when she was gone. I think she did alright”
In the fall of 2009, I went to lunch at Jack Lee’s in a melancholic mood, as my best friend of 29 years had passed away just two months earlier. More than a mentor, she had taught me so much about people, and was often the reason I got up in the morning. In our time together, her experiential discussions and ideals spilled into my life over seasonal table cloths and Readers Digest CDs.
Looking out the window of the restaurant, I noticed The Cornwall Seniors building across the street and headed in. Introducing myself, I explained how I was off every Monday, and if they needed someone in the kitchen to prepare a meal, I was their girl.
Rose Zukowski, who was president at the time, said “Yes, we do need someone to peel the potatoes”. Oh God, I thought – be careful what you wish for. The next Monday at 9 sharp, I got my education in food prep.
It turned out that on Tuesday’s they served a hot meal, so after doing the cleanup I got to peel the potatoes. What a feeling, standing over that tiny sink working my way down the bottom of a 10 pounder.
Rose goes to the big freezer, thaws 4 pie and proceeds to bake them in the ovens. When they’re done, she places them on cooling racks in the pantry.
Memories of home permeate the air. After everyone leaves the kitchen, I sneak back, close the pantry door behind me and pull that sweet smell into me.
After a few weeks I noticed a curious thing. Every person walking into that club was treated like gold from the moment they came in, until the door closed behind them. There was never any gossip or negativity. A more beautiful thing there never was, and that my friend, was the purest example of the Silent Generation. Will there ever be another –
The following week, I’m back in the pantry when Rose tells someone why I’m in there. It makes me cry to hear the endearment in her voice. In a way those ladies all became like mothers, nurturing me through my grief. I love them for that.
As it turned out, one day they were voting in a new president and had already prepared sandwiches for the members. I was invited to go up after the voting and have lunch with everyone. After a bit, over walks this 6” tall man with long hair down his back and a long white beard. I asked my kitchen partner who he was and she told me “Oh, that’s George Crites: our new president”.
Over the course of that fall into winter, I learned that George played Santa all his life for children’s hospitals all over Ontario. He and his wife had custom made Santa & Mrs. Claus suits valued in the thousands. He didn’t drink or smoke and didn’t tolerate those who did. He had no use for violence or rough-talk of any kind.
Honest as the day was long, George did right by people pretty much all of the time and just like Santa, his face held an expression of whimsy, year-round. Famous for his Canada Day treat known as Santa Burgers, he drove a red van with the Santa plates, and if you looked him up in the phone book you’d find him listed under the Ss.
One day at the club, George came charging through the back door in full costume, Ho-Ho-Ho-ing through the place. Strolling in the kitchen, he reached up and took down his big Santa mug. The world stood still.
I was in awe!! Ohmygod-I thought. I.Work.For.Santa!!
Well if you don’t know me, I’m a pretty decent baker. Soon, I was bringing cinnamon raisin cookies just for him. While peeling eggs I’d sneak glances in the big room and watch him pick the crumbs out of his beard.
I thought my heart would burst ~ it felt like I was in a movie.
That last Monday before the parade, he pulled me aside in the kitchen and with a gloved hand and raised eyebrow, questioned my attendance at that weekend’s event.
As his float rolled down 2nd St, I was jumping all around, telling everybody he was my boss. As our eyes connected for that one moment in time, I think he actually winked at me.
Copyright © November 2015
