Mr. Gibbs

by Stephen Boyd

Remember Mr. Gibbs--the tall Black man always dressed in an overcoat and hat? You know--the NLS doorman whose job it was to keep folks out of a place today hinged with steel doors keeping them inside.

I got to know Mr. Gibbs' quiet strength and generous character in the early 1970s while walking near Lake Merritt in Oakland. At the time I was a struggling junior college pothead.

Mr. Gibbs spotted me first. He was in leisure clothes, a broad-rimmed hat, and with a gentle smile. Happily retired in California, he was living with a son and daughter-in-law.

Following our mutual surprise, Mr. Gibbs and I sought a lakeside bench to talk. I recall his encouragement, warmth and kindness.

Listening to him told me that I could walk right past someone every day for years-on-end, and never really glimpse his soul. As an unaware young creature of the marketplace, I was particularly blind. On that park bench, Mr. Gibbs taught me that truth could be found in the most avoided of places. Hallelujah!

- Stephen Boyd