Editorial

By Rachel Mendell

Ralph Mul­berg was lit­mus paper. Wher­ever he was, you could tell the hearts of the peo­ple around him by what they said and did.

I first saw Ralph when our fam­ily moved here in 1997 and I heard rumors about his his­tory when I started writ­ing for the paper in 2004. But I didn’t really meet Ralph until I was work­ing for Cheri’ Laugh­baum at the Off Cen­ter Café in the Uptowne.

I had been instructed that even if Ralph didn’t have enough money, I could still serve him his ice tea and donut (some­times a large muf­fin). He would give me what change he had, usu­ally exact change, with that slow smile of his and a quiet “Thank you.” We always made sure he had nap­kins and asked if he wanted a refill.

He didn’t let his aches and pains bother him. He didn’t let the cruel jest­ing of the teens (who liked to pour honey in the salt con­tain­ers when my back was turned) bother him. Cross­ing busy streets and brav­ing 598 traf­fic didn’t phase him. With deter­mi­na­tion he con­tin­ued with his plan for the day.

When you looked closely, there was a wis­dom in his eyes. I think he knew every­thing. He wasn’t obliv­i­ous to the chaos around him. He knew what peo­ple whis­pered in his pres­ence. He knew some motorists were angry and honked when he crossed the street where there was no light. I’m sure he cared about all that, but he didn’t show it.

What that lit­mus paper did was show me the acid in my heart. I admit I felt a small frus­tra­tion when he walked into the café. It meant that I must meet the chal­lenge of serv­ing him. It meant that I might have to lis­ten to the kids (and adults) say mean things. It even meant that some cus­tomers would walk right back out the door the minute they spot­ted him sit­ting in his reg­u­lar chair.

I am relieved to tell you that I met that chal­lenge each day he came in. I also have to say that the acid has been neu­tral­ized because I served him. Ralph taught me a few things about life. Walk where you want to with deter­mi­na­tion. Fol­low your plan for the day, but be open to change. Don’t let the heart­less words of oth­ers ruin your day. Be pre­pared by wear­ing your orange-yellow suit and tak­ing your essen­tials with you in your wagon. Be gen­er­ous and let oth­ers share what they have with you.

Share your per­sonal sto­ries of Ralph by com­ment­ing on our web­site ( HYPERLINK “http://www.galioninquirer.com” www.galioninquirer.com) or by e-mailing us at rmendell@galioninquirer.com

Posted by Rachel Mendell on Apr 27 2012. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.