Sticky Buns

by Rich Fahringer
Folsom, California, USA

On November 5th, 1951, a small, shivering child walked up the knoll from the bus stop to the little elementary school in a rural town in northeastern Pennsylvania. He had no gloves or boots to shield him from the wet and chilling effects of the elements — sub-zero temperatures and an icy mist blowing at 20+ MPH. It was far too cold for anyone to be out, let alone a second grader. The new school secretary noticed him and asked, “Why aren’t you wearing boots or gloves?”

“I don’t have any,” the child shyly replied. The next day, another cold day with an icy wind making the short walk from the bus stop to the school an uncomfortable trek for anyone, the school secretary stopped the young child and said, “Here, try these on.”

And so it went for more than 20 years. No child ever left that small school on a cold day without gloves, boots, a warm hat, or a warm coat to combat the elements. Over the years, the cost was considerable, possibly exceeding her salary as a part-time school secretary. Yet she did it so kindly and gently that no child was ever embarrassed about receiving her gifts.

Obviously, a woman with a heart that big didn’t stop at warm clothes for cold children. Every new resident in town was greeted with a batch of cinnamon buns (“sticky buns” in the local parlance). Sick and elderly people often received a casserole or other dinner to enjoy.

Most people have warm hearts. But sometimes it is too easy to have a payroll deduction or weekly tithe go toward something good. This kind and energetic woman’s involvement had no overhead and provided assistance where it was needed the most directly and immediately. And everything was done with a personal touch.

We had some idea of what my mother was doing over the years. But at her funeral a little over a year ago, we were overcome by the large number of people who showed up to pay their respects and tell us one more thing that Agnes had done. We were overwhelmed.

Not surprisingly, the crowd for the funeral exceeded the capacity of the funeral parlor. It’s also not surprising that, when she was in the hospital and beginning to fail, she ordered my dad to buy sticky buns and deliver them to people, to let them know they were welcome. She asked him, “Did you notice any little kids who needed a warm pair of gloves?”

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