My summer job with the Wayland Street & Water Department was backbreaking, but even after days of mowing, ripping out broken sidewalks, and sweeping streets, I could enjoy the fruits of hard labor. I realized that I would never be an academic.

I wrote my dad in desperation. We didn’t have much of a relationship until then, but the advice he sent back was sage. Learn to work with your hands. Get a skill. Think about trade school. It was just the kick I needed, and the friendship it helped to form with my father has lasted to this day.

When I came home, I enrolled as a tool and die apprentice at the RIT School of Applied Industrial Studies on the corner of West Main and Fitzhugh Streets. I still had problems, though. Even juggling a handful of jobs, I didn’t have a car. When the term started, Dad suggested I grab my lunch box and hitchhike. Never be too proud, he said. Your friends will recognize you, and they’ll give you a ride. Dad’s insane notion proved right.

After a few rough days, I caught a ride with the kindest man I’d ever met, Jerry Westacott. His classic diesel Mercedes became my ride to school. That car and the friendship it represented were a dream come true for me.

Jerry worked at the other end of Main Street — he was on the west side and I was a 2-mile hike east. The walk to that car after school made me a familiar site to the professionals of downtown Rochester. My jeans, sweatshirt, and lunchbox stood out then, and it’s pretty close to the uniform I wear today.

One day, it was almost dark when I crossed the bridge — a final landmark before I reached the Mack truck repair shop Jerry’s brother Jim owned. The last of the city traffic had emptied out as I walked into the yard. But this time, there was no Mercedes. There was no Jerry. And there was no 45-mile ride back to my parent’s place in Wayland.

His brother Jim must have seen my anxiety. With a smile and a single sentence, he changed my life. “Don’t worry, son. Jerry went to an appointment. We’ve got a ride for you.” With that, he tossed me the keys to his brand-new Chevy pickup — an absolute beauty. “It’s got a full tank. Don’t worry about filling it up. Just bring it back in the morning.

Jim and Jerry trusted me before I could prove them right. In a moment like this when community is interrupted by a shadowy virus and a six-foot invisible wall, we need a little less suspicion, a lot more caring, and yes, a lot more love — the kind of love the Westacott brothers showed me.

Stay Strong!