Everyone called the bus driver John. To us kids, he seemed really old, with dark, smooth skin that seemed to glow with a special radiance.  His smile as we got on the bus warmed us more than the hot cocoa we’d down on those cold winter mornings before rushing to the corner to wait for him.

As we made our way through snowy streets, John would sometimes sing the Little Red Schoolhouse to us, and keep us entertained with stories and funny comments.

One morning as we drove through the snow lined streets he looked up into his oversized mirror so we could catch the twinkle in his eyes and told us that last night he’d fought with the Torah.

The Torah – being the Old Testament and the only one we Jewish schoolkids knew about – is pretty sacred. No one fights with it. John didn’t know much about it, it seemed. You don’t fight with the Torah. Maybe you fight with your friend, your siblings, even your parents on a really bad day. But to wrestle with the Torah, as John described? Nah.

We didn’t take him too seriously. A few grins, giggles, smart alecky comments, a polite response or two from the better behaved among us, and the incident was forgotten.

John also used to tell us that his real name was Abraham Yohanes Elkanah. Pretty holy name for a bus driver. Never knew where that came from.

Our whole community turned out at John’s funeral. The Rabbi of the boys’ school, who interacted with John for years on a daily basis, spoke highly about this unique man who exuded warmth, happiness, and a love of life. How he made every single schoolkid feel that he was something special just by stepping on his bus and receiving the first huge smile of the day.

I didn’t find out about the funeral and John’s passing until years later. I was back in Michigan, sending my own kids off to school during a snow storm and praying that they’d make it there safely. I didn’t even dare to dream of a driver who’d warm my kids with his deluxe smile and cute quips.

Unfortunately for my kids, they didn’t get anything close to our John. Mr. R was a stickler for rules, never smiled, and could smell an open bag of pretzels twelve rows back. He’d look up into his oversized mirror, catch a kids’ eye to inflict maximum fear and trembling, and boom out, “I smell food – who’s eating on my bus?”

We’re living in Atlanta now, and my kids’ walk to school is so short I can watch them out my front window. No more busses, no more snow. But something made me think of John recently and I decided to google his holy name.

Turns out Abraham Johannes was a Dutch-born clergyman who moved to Michigan in the late 1800s with his family, and was known for his work in the labor, pacifist, anti-war, and civil rights movements. Who knows, maybe John knew him, and looked up to him.  He may have been John’s hero. Or maybe his parents’ hero, and they really did name their son after him. I know John never fought with the Torah, but as a young black man growing up in the mid-1900’s he probably had plenty other battles to fight.

Regardless of what kind of battles John fought in his lifetime, he is definitely one of my heros. He was no political or social activist – at least not that we knew about – but he was an activist for kids and their parents. Starting out the school day interacting with John was a treat, because he chose to make it that way.

It wasn’t about how you acted on his bus, or whether or not you downed a quick snack and maybe dropped a pretzel or two on his bus. It was about happiness, positive personal interaction, songs, and being alive and well.

I want to thank John, in whatever part of heaven they save for people like him. And all the Johns out there who make a choice to smile at a child, make him or her feel like a million bucks, and show them that even if you’ve seen the dark side a time or two in your life, you can still be vibrant and happy.

People like John may not be school teachers, but they teach the real lessons in this big schoolhouse of a world that we live in today.