WHEN I LIVED in Dayton, Ohio, the first person to become my friend was the man who picked up my laundry twice a week and brought it back clean and folded. Gene took my front steps two at a time, pressed the doorbell twice and greeted me with a grin and sparkling Irish blue eyes. Because I was lonely in a new town and eager for someone to talk to, he became my ear for complaints and problems. I could count on him to cheer me out of depression and dejection.

Friendship is give and take, and one year later I felt I had only taken. Gene never seemed to need encouragement or cheering up. In fact, sometimes I wondered grumpily if he ever had a problem. When my curiosity nudged me to ask him a personal question, I learned he was adept at changing the subject. Then one day I finally caught a glimpse of the man behind the smile. He had checked my laundry list, and we were standing at the door exchanging comments.

WITH HIS USUAL SMILE, Gene turned and took the steps of the porch two at a time. As I watched his truck pull away, I thought, 'No, Gene, most people don't know how important that is, but you do. Those two little kids from California are mighty lucky.'