L
eathy was an elderly woman who lived in our neighborhood. Her home was small and humble. Her reputation was one of grouchy seclusion, as she seldom ventured outside her home. When we moved into the neighborhood, we were told to keep away because Leathy was a witch. They said she walked slowly and always carried a broom. The children were not even allowed to trick-or-treat there on Halloween.
About a year after we moved into the area, a young, newly married couple moved into a house on our street. They moved next door to the “old scrooge woman,” as we called her, and we felt we should warn them. But, by the time we went to visit the newlyweds, it was too late to explain their odd neighbor. They had already paid Leathy a visit, bringing with them a basket of fruits, some warm bread and friendship.
Over the next few months, it became a weekly occurrence to see the young newlyweds coming and going from Leathy’s home. One evening, my wife and I were eating at a nice restaurant with our children, when two ladies entered the room. One was the young woman; the other she introduced as Leathy. Much to our surprise, Leathy was not a decrepit, unkempt, witchy woman, as we had been led to believe when we moved into the neighborhood. Instead, she was a dignified, elegant lady with a sparkle in her eye and a big, warm smile. She walked with a limp and used not a broom, but a cane, to support her. She explained that her sweet husband and two children had been killed in an automobile accident 15 years before. She had never married, and this day was the anniversary of their death. She briefly cried as she hugged our children and thanked the young woman for taking the time from her busy schedule to spend the afternoon with her. “It’s tough,” she said. “Sometimes I get so lonely. These beautiful children remind me of the good old days.”
We left the restaurant and verbally committed as a family to visit Leathy during the next few days. Our busy schedule turned days into weeks, and a month later we finally got our act together. We walked the two blocks to Leathy’s home as a family. As we approached the front door, a big, black hearse was just pulling away. Leathy had suffered a heart attack and passed away early that morning. We had waited too long to be kind, caring and considerate. It was too late to meet this “walking time machine” who had seen every major invention, dealt with the Great Depression and survived the concentration camps of the Holocaust.
Two weeks after the simple, quiet funeral service that only a few people attended, Leathy’s will was read. To the young newlyweds who had befriended her and spruced up her yard, Leathy wrote: “For making me feel special, beautiful and needed again, I leave you $1 million and my house and property, with a guarantee that you will enlarge, update and remodel this small home, turning the property into the magnificent to create. I leave you a second $1 million to set up your family, so you won’t have to work outside your home and can help another elderly lady feel pretty and important like you did me.” The will then left a young, single mother, who was Leathy’s regular waitress at her favorite restaurant, $125,000. Since the young couple moved in, Leathy and her neighbors ate there three times a week. During the course of conversation, she discovered that the waitress had a new baby and was working two jobs so that she could go back to college and get the job she dreamed of, instead of just settling. The money Leathy willed her was earmarked for her education. Unbeknownst to most, Leathy served on the board of directors of three national foundations and a children’s hospital. She left the rest of her fortune to them.
The attorney reading the will then concluded, “Leathy’s husband made his millions as an inventor. He conceived the idea of recycling paper, aluminum and plastic. He based his process formula on two things: Leathy’s life motto and the meaning of her name. Her motto was ‘What Goes Around Comes Around.’ Her name, Leathy, means “Always remember, never forget.”
In life and in death Leathy made a difference. We will always remember her and never forget her life of love and leadership. You never know whose life you touch when you unselfishly and unconditionally serve.
- Dan Clark