I had been looking for just the right column to write before this issue. I think I may have found it.

It’s the story of Stan Howard.

You wouldn’t know him. He’s not the president. He’s didn’t land on the moon. He’s not a millionaire. He is in his 50s and lives in Riverview. A few months ago, my father told me about Stan, who is dying of cancer. Doctors gave him six months to live. That was two months ago.

“Maybe you can write a story about him and make him feel better” my father said. “Give him a call.”

I promised I would call him, then, of course, never followed up. Now and again, my father would mention it, and I’d say, “Oh, sure, sure. I’ll call him,” but again, I fell short.

In August, during the empty days before Labor Day, I finally went to see Stan. At this point, he was slouched over in a chair, his muscles withered from arguably the cruelest disease. His steps were labored, his movements stiff and exaggerated, like a puppet yanked by strings. He passed the kitchen. Step. Stop. Step. Stop. Step. Stop. By the time he turned the corner to greet me at the door, he was short of breath. This is what happens when you have cancer, endured several strokes and a heart attack. It’s like someone snipped the phone lines from your brain.

“Hello, I’m…”

“I know who you are,” he said, smiling, his voice weak.

He is 54. Or 55. Not really sure. It really doesn’t matter. Once I heard his story, it was clear that the remarkable thing about Stan Howard wasn’t how long he lived, but that he is still living at all.

In and out of the hospital, Stan found himself focusing on family. Stan told my father his wish was to see his son and three grandchildren one last time in upstate New York.

Stan started crying.

“They’re all I have.”

Then he pointed to a picture on the wall. “That’s them there.”

The truth was that Stan didn’t have the money. He has been on disability for a couple years, barely enough to keep up with his bills.

My father, before me, had listened to Stan’s story and his last wish. Saw his pain. And before you knew it, he was raising money for Stan’s roundtrip train fare. He solicited three friends: Jamal Ghanem, Allie Fayz and Mike Fayz. They all chipped in. So did my father.

Can you believe that? In a Samaritan minute, four men plunked down nearly $200 for a total stranger, without expecting anything in return.

In the days that followed, Stan went from complete sadness to signs of happiness.

“I’m more thankful than you could ever believe,” he told me.

Stan will soon travel to see his son and grandchildren. And when he comes back, he’ll likely feel more alive than he has felt in a while thanks to the kindness of four strangers.

Now, remember there was nothing in this for Allie, Mike, Jamal or my father. The attention they have gotten all came after the fact. And I can tell you, they never once asked for this kind of attention. In fact, they’d rather I not mention their names. They have always been this way – the type of people who would help a struggling elderly woman across the street, no questions asked.

I admire them because of their good deeds and selfless acts. Which is why I can think of no better column to pen this issue than this one, because if our community is to survive these awful economic times, it won’t depend on who sits in the White House or who our next mayor is.

It will depend on whether we are willing to think about others as Allie, Mike, Jamal and my father did, to actually help someone simply because they need it, not whether we think they deserve it. It will depend on our belief in the innate goodness of our fellow neighbors, rather than assumptions that they are bad because they are not like us.

When you look at the world less selfishly, you see we are all sort of sitting on a big couch, sharing our stories together, hoping they affect others.

In that way, our four friends, with their caring act, taught us more than any political candidate or talk show host has done to date: We need to be nicer to each other.

I asked my father the other day: Why did you do it? Why go out of your way to help a stranger?

“He needed help,” was his answer.

If only kindness were always this easy. Then maybe these depressing, head-shaking times wouldn’t be so hard.*

You can contact Raad Alawan at (313) 333-5369 or at: yourvoice1@aol.com.