Guy Wheatley
The Texarkana Gazette

It was a commanding voice. It was a little louder than the others in the general babble that filled the airport. Something in it demanded my attention. I could see a tall man animatedly talking to a group of people standing in the check-in line. He was making eye contact with his audience. His face drew my eyes to him so that I did not see the people to whom he was speaking.
I didn't want to eavesdrop on a conversation that didn't involve me, but I couldn't help listening. Something about him gently demanded my attention. As my brain began interpreting his words, I became a little confused. I hadn't noticed any children in the line, but his slow, patient instructions sounded as though they were directed at children. ìI have to talk to the lady about you,î he said in a slow, clear tone. ìI'll have to talk about you one at a time, so don't get excited if I don't talk about you at first.î
One of the people to whom he had been speaking began rocking back and forth. The addressee made a move that was something between raising his hand and scratching his head then mumbled something I couldn't make out.
I glanced for the first time at the people to whom the man was speaking. They were people with special needs. The young man rocking back and forth appeared to have Down syndrome. I quickly realized that the gentleman who had first caught my attention was in charge of this group.
Getting through an airport by yourself can be trying. I've never taken small children with me on a flight, but I've watched others do it. I thought that only parental love could induce someone to go through such an ordeal. I was wrong.
This man was herding five or six people, with the minds of children but the bodies of adults, through one of the most patience-trying experiences people go through voluntarily. His tone was authoritative and left little room for dissent. Yet he didn't sound harsh or unkind. His charges showed no fear of him. Indeed, their attitude seemed to be one of respectful obedience. They huddled close to him, seeking support and comfort.
He talked to them explaining what was about to happen with more patience than most parents I've seen. He was careful to prepare them for what would happen over the next few minutes so that there were no surprises.
I made my way to my own gate, leaving the man with his charges behind. As I sat, waiting to board my flight, I again noticed parents with young children. I observed several techniques for controlling tired, cranky little ones expected to sit quietly for a couple of hours. None had the skills I had witnessed earlier. None had the patience, either. I began to understand what an extraordinary individual the man I watched earlier was.
The more cynical among us might say he was just doing his job. I don't think his charges would agree. I wouldn't agree, either. I've met thousands of people in my life. I doubt that more than two of them could do what I watched this man do. The patience he displayed wasn't the result of a learned discipline. It was a manifestation of the dedication and concern he held for others. He had skills born of long practice, but they were built upon intrinsic qualities I believe he was born with.
Books about angels have become popular in the last few years. I've looked over a few. An author in the flyleaf of one book insisted that God has created beings with an increased morality and capacity for love to watch over us. Many books describe angels based on popular belief, classical art, or Biblical authority. Some have wings and halos others have flaming swords. Some are gargantuan, others diminutive. Most can fly.
Let me describe one of them. He is about 5-feet 5-inches tall and weighs about 145 pounds with thinning blond hairóand he needs an airline ticket to fly.

Back to Article Index
Back to Writing Index
Back to Home page