There can’t be too many guys named Tony from Jamaica living on Nantucket, population 10,142.  He’s a good looking guy around 30 years of age, which should narrow it down if necessary. He was wearing a Yankees baseball cap, though I don’t think he was actually a baseball player for the team. 

So if you happen to come across Tony, please do me a favor. Buy him dinner. Buy him a drink. Be nice to him. At the very least, tell him “thank you.”

A few days ago, I drove up to the Westchester Correctional Facility at Valhalla. It was a foggy morning, so I turned on the lights to avoid someone not realizing I was there and ramming into me at great velocity. It seemed prudent.  As I did so, I thought to myself, “don’t forget to turn the lights off when you get there.”  You see, this car had old-fashioned manual lights, the type that have to be turned off by hand when you stop the car.  The other cars have lights that turn off by themselves, so I never have to think about it. I tend to use the other cars more, and have gotten used to the lights going off by themselves. I knew this, which is why I made a point of reminding myself to turn off the lights when I stop.

I arrived at Valhalla and got my stuff together. There is a whole ritual, since one has to shed all undesirable things before entering a jail, and I try to make sure my entrance is as uneventful as possible. With my usual meticulous precision, I dealt with metal and communications devices, whatever contraband might be concealed on my person, and made sure I had the papers I needed in hand. Off I went to the gate, and it was smooth sailing from there.

When I returned, ready to motor back at the speed limit, I turned the ignition key and, click, click, buzzzz. Then silence. My eyes began to droop and found the knob for the headlights. I could see the stem, as the black bakelite knob was pulled toward the driver. I left the lights on. The battery was dead.

Crap, I thought to myself. What a moron I am. So I pulled out my trusty smartphone to find a garage to give me a jump. I turned it on, which was something I do not often do as I only turn it on when I need to make a call out. I rarely need to make a call out.  I was fairly sure that the last time I used it, there was a full battery. Apparently, some elf had stolen my full battery in the interim and replaced it with a dead one.  The phone was dead too.  Double crap.

Then Tony knocked on my window.  He asked if I needed a hand, and I told him the situation. He was parked two cars down, and was there because his girlfriend’s cousin was a guest of Valahalla. She was inside, and he was in the parking lot waiting for her.  Still, he could have stayed in his nice, warm car with a working battery, listening to music or reading Chaucer. Instead, he noticed I was having a problem and came to see what he could do to help.

He didn’t have jumper cables, unfortunately. But his car charger fit my cellphone. And he had a cellphone, also charged. And we found a garage that could send a truck to jump me. And he helped push my car out of the parking space into the middle of the parking lot, then down to a place where it was out of the way but the truck could still reach it. And he stood there, in the cold, talking to me. And when I got too cold to stand there anymore, he let me hang out with him in his car, where we listened to music and I made some incredibly humorous Jamaica jokes. It would have been too weird to read Chaucer to each other.

I have to admit that I had an inkling that maybe Tony had an ulterior motive when he first approach my car. I was suspicious, an occupational hazard of being a criminal defense lawyer in a jail parking lot. Afterward, it made me feel unworthy of the kindness Tony had shown me.

When the truck came to jump my battery, Tony got out of his car with me, and stood beside me to make sure the car started and everything was cool. He asked me if I had enough to cover the cost when the truck driver told me the tariff. It was eminently reasonable, and I had it covered, but Tony just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to end up with another problem.

I thought about asking Tony if he wanted to grab some lunch, but realized he was waiting for his girlfriend and wasn’t actually there for my benefit. I thank him. He shrugged it off, saying it was nothing. He said that it was his pleasure to help.  And then we shook hands and he walked back to his car. 

I beeped the horn “thank you” as I drove out of the lot. But as I drove home, I wondered what I did to create the karma that brought a guy like Tony to Valhalla that day. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.

So if you happen to come across a Jamaican guy named Tony from Nantucket, I would very much appreciate it if you could show him some kindness. He is a good man.