My work phone rang. It was Pat, our receptionist at the front desk, on the other end.

“Sue, I have a Doc —- here to see you.” 

“Tell him I’ll be right up”.

Click. Doc? Of all the customers I had been helping during my banking career he was one of few I’d have expected to have stopped in to see me. 

I met Doc in the 80s. As part of my duties working in the administration department of Saginaw’s branch system for National Bank of Detroit, opening new accounts was a routine. Personal banking was catching on in promoting customer service ideals so when Doc’s letter came to our office it was given to me for follow up.

I met Doc who was living out of town at the time. He had a job that gave him some small earnings. He wanted to have his account in Saginaw where his mother, as a co-signer, could have easy access. So, thus began what resulted in several back and forth transactions which took place over the course of about a year. Doc would sometimes mail me a check to deposit. On occasion he phoned me to authorize a withdrawal. Each conversation was always pleasant, nothing out of the ordinary for someone taking care of a routine financial translation.  Our conversations weren’t very long, enough time to briefly catch up with one another merely exchanging pleasantries mingled in with the reason for his call. He was an out of town customer–we had others–so it never crossed my mind that we might meet one another face-to-face. Until Pat from the front desk called.

After hanging up her call, I walked to the receptionist desk. Standing there was a young black man dressed in athletic clothing, neatly groomed. He appeared to be in his 20s. 

“Doc?”

“Yes, ma’am”.

“Nice to meet you. Please come with me to a conference room where we can talk.”

As he followed me I caught a glimpse of Pat’s eyes and facial expression. She looked a bit concerned.

Doc sat across from me at the table.

“What can I do for you, Doc?”

“I just wanted to come meet you Mrs. Kretchman and say thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For being so nice to me.”

“Nice to you? I try to be nice to all of our customers”.

“But it made me feel good you were nice to me, seeing’s as how I was in prison”.

Yes, Doc was in a state prison when he wrote his letter to us asking if he could open a savings account. After reading it I took it to my boss and remembered asking ‘do we open accounts for people who are in prison?’

‘Do they have money?’

His subtle correction to adjust my judgemental attitude was duly noted. Therefore, a banking relationship between a young white woman and a young black man was established, resulting in opportunities to provide him with banking services enjoyed by thousands of residents in our area.

I remember asking Doc what he had done that required him to serve time. “Breaking and entering” he told me, “But I’ve learned my lesson.”

We didn’t chat long. I escorted him to the front desk, said our goodbyes and turned around to see Pat’s lingering facial expression telling me she was in a mild form of shock.

“Sue, how could you take him to a conference room with no one else with you!”

“Pat, I wasn’t afraid”.

And, I hadn’t been afraid. I was too caught up in the wonder of why Doc was standing at the reception desk when I clearly thought “isn’t he in prison?”

Being kind to Doc was not second nature for me. It was–and remains to this day–common practice for me. Kindness was taught in our home; it was modeled by grandparents, numerous aunts and uncles, teachers and other adults who had been influential in my formative years. Kindness is a fruit of the spirit–not any spirit–but that which comes from God. It’s a fruit that is produced when a person is connected to Him as the master gardener. Yet, admittedly, sometimes like fruit that begins to spoil, my consistency in being kind has been challenged. Even when I fail, I don’t give up trying.

A lot of time has passed now since meeting Doc. He doesn’t come to mind now very often except on those occasions when a lesson of kindness is needed between two very different people. When he crosses my mind I wonder where he’s living. What kind of job or career did he land for himself? Have there been other people God put in his life to continue offering kindness along with being treated as one of God’s children?

I hope so. Moreso, since he had experienced being imprisoned by man for a short while, I pray he’s found complete freedom–the kind given by God through His Son Jesus Christ.