Watcher
At a restaurant not too far from downtown Montreal, mornings were always full of noisy groups of people and the place was lively and fun. There were about 30 tables and a long counter with stools. Above the counter was a big mirror so that people sitting there could look up and see what was happening at the tables behind them.
One morning a short, smartly dressed elderly lady struggled to get up onto a stool in the middle of the counter and by her looks and clothing she was either a school Principal or a retired nun. She had steel-grey hair slicked back in a bun and a little hat on top of her head. As she finally settled down she was smiling to herself as she glanced up to the mirror above, watching the activity behind her.
Directly behind her was a table with four women and one of them had just gone to the ladies’ washroom. The old lady brought up a hand to her mouth to hide a quiet giggle when a few minutes later the woman returned to her table with a puzzled look on her face, clutching what looked like a yellow Post-it note in her hand.
The old lady watched in the mirror as the woman sat down and leaned forward to whisper something to her friends while passing the piece of paper around. As they read it, all four smiled broadly and then curiously looked around the restaurant while the old lady covered another smile and a self-satisfied look.
Secret message
Most of us have met people who look stern and forbidding but whose personality changes completely when they smile – this is what had happened to the old lady. She had suddenly become an impish schoolgirl, completely engrossed in her own mischievous thoughts.
Behind her and further away, there was another increase in activity as another woman who had been sitting with her husband and two children also returned from the ladies’ washroom. They too were busy studying a piece of paper she had brought back, and then the four looked around smiling. They seemed to be trying to identify a particular person in the restaurant. At the counter the old lady covered another smile, obviously much amused by what was going on behind her.
It was hard to understand what was happening and difficult to tell if the old lady was playing a joke on the other diners, because it was obvious that she didn’t know them.
And so, curious and impatient I moved over to the empty stool next to her and said: “Excuse me, madam, I have to know what’s going on! … If I could, I would go into the ladies’ room to see what those women are bringing out with them … but since I can’t go in there, I beg you … please … tell me what’s happening!”.
Confession
Startled by the fact that someone had noticed what she was doing, at first she was reluctant to talk to me. However, I wasn’t moving from the stool next to her and, as I ordered her another cup of tea, she realized she could not ignore me. She softened and looking up at me with a couple of twinkling blue eyes, she said with an English accent: “Alright dear …” and then, almost to herself “my goodness! … and here I thought I was covering me tracks better than this!”
She carefully dipped the new teabag in her cup and looked relieved to tell her story. As she confirmed later, this was the first time she had told anyone about her game.
Then it all came out in a rush, almost like a confession. She said she was 93 years old and originally from Folkestone, England, a seaside resort. Her family had moved to London in 1945, at the end of the Second World War. As she spoke, I noticed that she was very well dressed in a tailored suit, a strand of pearls around her neck and sensible lace-up shoes. Although she didn’t seem to be too sure about me yet, she started to relax and get comfortable as she started talking. As I listened to her British accent, I could imagine her singing a song from The Sound of Music.
“You see, dear” she said, “I was what we call a Governess back home and I’ve been in Canada for a long time now. The children I was looking after in Toronto got all grown up and I left my employer about five years ago. The family was ever so nice to me and when I moved to Montreal, I bought a condo downtown and I’ve been doing volunteer work at a couple of hospitals”. She paused again…. “Well, until this year, anyway”.
I made encouraging noises and urged her to continue by saying, as gently as possible, “And what happened this year?”.
“Well, my arthritis got worse” she said as she waved her fingers in the air to show me, “and then I couldn’t walk too well” nodding to the folded aluminum walker leaning against the counter on the other side of her stool. “So I had to give up doing that stuff and find some other way to make people smile, d’you see?”
I filled her cup with more hot water, nodded and waited. “So I didn’t know what to do, you see, and I sat at home for a while, trying to think of something I could do to help people who were worse off than me, d’you see what I mean?”
“At my age I have a lot of time to think, so I started to write down the things that had stayed with me when I was younger. After pages and pages of notes, I ended up crossing off almost all of them and ….” she paused, obviously unsure if she wanted to talk about something so personal.
I tried to look as sympathetic and trustworthy as possible as she put her glasses on her nose to look at me, as if deciding whether to continue or not. Suddenly she sat up straighter on the stool and took a deep breath, as if she had made a big decision. She continued: “I know that this will sound silly, but let me tell you what led me to do what I am doing now, alright?”.
I was relieved that I was finally going to find out what she doing and she started telling me her story.
War experiences
At the end of WW2 she had been living in London with her parents. After the bombing raids stopped, the family lived through food rationing and other difficulties while the city slowly recovered. One of her childhood memories was the graffiti written on the crumbling walls of buildings throughout London.
The words ‘Kilroy was here’ seemed to be everywhere, with a funny drawing of a face looking over a wall.
Apparently a man called Kilroy, a shipyard inspector in Boston, had chalked those words on the bulkheads of the ships the Americans were building during the war, to show that he had inspected the riveting. Once they were in action abroad, the words were a mystery – all they knew for sure was that somebody called Kilroy “had been there first”.
As a joke American soldiers began scribbling the same message wherever they landed, claiming that it was already there when they arrived. Kilroy became the Americans’ super-GI who always got there first wherever American soldiers went and it became a challenge for all US troops to scribble the message in the most unlikely places.
As a young girl the old lady got used to seeing the phrase everywhere and like all Londoners, when she saw the graffiti she smiled and felt safer.
I also smiled and thanked her for the story but was puzzled at how this was connected to the restaurant that day. She saw my face and said: “Now, don’t rush me, young man …. I’m getting there… you DID ask me for my story, didn’t you?” and she looked up at me coquettishly.
Then she calmly took another sip of tea and continued: “I do my banking not too far away and I noticed that my bank advertises that it helps its clients ‘one at a time’ …. I really like that idea because ALL our relationships happen one-at-a-time, don’t you agree?”
I continued to look puzzled and with an impatient voice she continued. “The other thing you should know about me is that I’m quite modern, you know, and I have a computer!” and she sat up straighter and stuck out her chest. I looked suitably impressed as she continued: “I noticed that many people send e-mail messages with a smiley face …. you know the one … the round yellow face with two eyes and a smiley mouth, don’t you?” and I nodded.
“Well, I see those little faces everywhere and people always smile at them…. so I decided …” and her voice dropped and she beckoned me closer “that I would combine Kilroy with the Smiley face and try to make people smile more. It’s the LEAST that I could do, don’t you think?”
Appointment
I still didn’t know where all this was leading to and when she looked at my questioning face again she took another deep breath and continued: “And so I invented the SECRET SMILER. Wherever I go, I leave a message that the Secret Smiler has been there”. And she opened her purse and brought out a yellow Post-it note pad and a self-inking stamp and quickly stamped it. Triumphantly she handed it to me.
It read THE SECRET SMILER WAS HERE, complete with a smiley face.
Nodding to the mirror above us, she said “THAT’s what they found when they went to the washroom – on the back of each door of the stalls I had left a note with that message, and THAT’s what they brought out!” she said proudly, laughing delightedly, “and look at how they are smiling !!!”
We both looked up at the mirror and sure enough, the two tables were still passing the yellow piece of paper around, with everyone smiling and obviously trying to guess which other restaurant patron was the Secret Smiler.
My friend slowly got off her stool and picked up her walker, ready to leave. Then, at the last moment as we shook hands she leaned forward and pulling me towards her, whispered: “You know, I don’t have much time or energy left any more, after all, I am 93 … so I’m going to trust you”.
She stood up straight for a second, took a deep breath and then leaned forward on her walker and looked up at me. Emphasizing her British accent she said, in a formal voice: “Young man, here’s my stamp …” and she pressed her stamp and little pad of Post-it Notes into my other hand while shaking my right hand twice.
“You are now the Official Secret Smiler. Go forth, continue my work and make people smile. You can do it alone, or you can do it on Facebook or any electronic method you so choose … You can build an organization or even a Secret Society. You can develop a group or do it individually ….. You are free to do whatever you wish … the important thing is that YOU MAKE PEOPLE SMILE … ONE AT A TIME!”.
She looked up at me seriously for a few seconds, formally shook my hand again and smiled broadly as she turned and slowly walked to the door, pushing her walker ahead of her.
I was too stunned to say anything so I just sat there, clutching her stamp and Post-it notepad in my hand, watching her through the restaurant windows. She hobbled slowly to a waiting taxi, opened the door and got in. She pulled in her walker and drove off.
New direction
During the next few days I had several pads of yellow Post-it pads pre-printed with the old lady’s words (The Secret Smiler was Here + a Happy Face) and I now stick them on bathroom mirrors, in elevators when nobody is watching, on subway seats, under the bill with my tip in restaurants, in taxis, and anywhere people are likely to read the message. I don’t wait to see if the person taking my Post-it Note is smiling …. I don’t have to … I KNOW that they are smiling!
Of course, it is very possible that you may never find one of my stickers because most people take them away – with a smile – but I just want you to know that THE SECRET SMILER is probably secretly lurking in your neighborhood!
Ennio Vita-Finzi is a writer, teacher and communicator living in Montreal, Canada. During his 83 years he has met thousands of interesting people and written about them. Meeting the Secret Smiler gave him a new goal in life and he quietly distributes his yellow post-it notes and has “appointed” a number of other Secret Smilers who do the same in their cities.
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