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She frowned slightly before responding. “Yeah. Is he in trouble?” Her eyes scanned my father’s
starched collar and pressed suit.

“No, ma’am. I represent a wealthy man who wants to get his foot fixed so he can play like all his
friends.”

“What’s the catch, mister? Ain’t nothing free in this life.”

“This is no tease. If you’ll let me explain it to you - and your husband, if he’s around - I think I can
make it clear. I know this is sudden. I don’t blame you for being suspicious.”

She looked at my father once again, and, still hesitant, invited him inside. “Henry,” she called out
in the direction of the kitchen, “come in here and talk to this man. He says he wants to help get
Jimmy’s foot fixed.”

For almost an hour, my father explained the plan and answered their questions. “If you’re willing
to let Jimmy have these operations,” he concluded, “I’ll send you some permission papers to sign.
Again, we pay all costs.”

Perplexed, Jimmy’s parents looked at each other. They still weren’t sure about all this.

“Here’s my card. I’ll write you a letter when I send the permission papers. The things we have
discussed, I’ll put in the letter. If you have any more questions, call or write me at this address.” This
seemed to give them a little more assurance. My father left. His mission was accomplished.

Later, my father’s employer got in touch with the mayor with a request to send someone to
Jimmy’s home to reas sure the family that this was a legitimate offer. Of course, the name of the
benefactor was not mentioned.

Soon, with permission papers signed and in hand, my father took Jimmy to an excellent hospital in
another state for the first of five operations on his club-foot.

The operations were a success. Jimmy became a favorite of the nurses on the orthopedic ward at
the hos pital. Tears and hugs were shared all around when Jimmy left for the last time. They gave him

a gift as a final gesture of their care... a new pair of shoes, specially made for his “new” feet.

Jimmy and my father got to be great friends as they traveled back and forth from the hospital. On

the final trip home, they sang songs, talked about what Jimmy could do now with his fixed foot and
shared silent times as they approached his house.

A smile flooded Jimmy’s face when they arrived at his house and he stepped out of the car. His
parents and two brothers stood clustered on the weathered front porch.

“Stay there,” Jimmy yelled to them. They stared in amazement as Jimmy walked toward them. His
limp had vanished.

Hugs, kisses and smiles surrounded the returned youngster with the “fixed foot.” His parents
shook their heads and grinned as they watched. They still could not believe that a man they had never