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"A Hero doesn't seek riches, he seeks righteousness." --Unknown
John Lambert lived his entire life in the city of Niagara Falls, passing away on June 12, 1997, at the all-too-young age of 58. If the name doesn't ring a bell, don't worry, Johnny didn't socialize much, and he wasn't exactly the master of the first impression, either. You see, John Lambert wasn't a famed politician or a conquering war hero, or even a misguided thrill seeker hiding behind the moniker, "Daredevil." No, what Johnny Lambert was, my friends, was a garbage man--he also was my hero.
Johnny was what some people would call slow. I used to think that way myself, now I think it's the rest of us who may be a little slow. With hair that defied the approach of a comb, clothes that were worn for Guinness Record Book lengths of time and thick fingers that looked like a collection of half smoked stogies, he was the epitome of trash collecting chic.
A man of few words, John Lambert rarely spoke, and when he did, it was only to people he trusted. Why then, you may ask, was he my hero? Johnny Lambert was my hero because he did something that everyone else I have ever met has only fantasized of doing--he fulfilled all of his dreams before he left the planet.
Johnny had two goals in life. The first was to become a garbage man.
How hard can it be to become a trash collector? Considering Johnny's limitations, it was a five-year process. When Johnny first interviewed to become a garbage man with the city of Niagara Falls, he was politely rebuffed and told to reapply again during the next hiring period.
When the next two hiring periods came and went without him being offered a job, Johnny decided to take matters into his own hands. So began the five-year odyssey of Johnny Lambert collecting the refuse of the citizens of the city of Niagara Falls, for FREE!
Every morning at 3:30 a.m., Johnny would rise from bed and walk (Johnny didn't drive, but more about that later) from his home in the 1800 block of Weston Avenue, across town to have a cholesterol-laden breakfast--Johnny didn't count calories--at the Wedge Restaurant.
Sufficiently energized, Johnny then would begin to collect the garbage for an entire route. At first, the compensated trash collectors weresomewhat taken aback by Johnny. After all, it's not every day that a private citizen offers to perform your job duties for you. Once they realized he was not a private eye hired by the city to test their work ethic, the garbage men did what countless CEOs before them have done, they put their feet up and turned a buck on another man's sweat equity. Once his route was completed, Johnny put Phase 2 of his plan into motion. He would arrive on the steps of city hall at 8:45 a.m.--Johnny was the world's most efficient trash collector--and await then-Mayor Michael C. O'Laughlin.
"Good morning, Mayor. Got a job for me yet?" Johnny would ask, mantra like, to the befuddled Mayor each morning.
Pretty soon, the Mayor got wind of the fact that Johnny already had begun collecting the garbage. What went through the Mayor's mind each morning as this little slice of American drama played out on the steps of the city's hub, I cannot say. What I can report to you are the facts, as I know them. After five straight years of arriving to work and being confronted by Johnny Lambert sitting on the front steps of city hall, the Mayor one day diverted from his stock answer to Johnny's query--which was, "Not today, Johnny," for those of you keeping score at home--and instead responded, "Today's your lucky day, Johnny, come have a seat in my office."
In reality, it was the Mayor's lucky day, because that morning he hired the best damn garbage collector the city has ever known.
Having fulfilled his first goal, Johnny then set his sights on his other secret desire, to obtain a driver's license. The first thing Johnny did after applying for his learner's permit was to enroll in a driving school course. Now, if you can close your eyes and imagine Johnny poured into a training vehicle with the instructor and three pimply-faced, brace-flashing, Tommy Hilfiger-attired teen-agers, you may, for the first time in your life, have complete understanding of the phrase, "truth is stranger than fiction." Johnny had one small obstacle in his pursuit of a driver's license: he couldn't keep the car straight!
Johnnie's driving style, sharp movements from left to right interspersed with heavy, unnecessary braking, hadn't been seen by the world since Al Pacino's blind character took a Maserati for a spin in "Scent of A Woman," and quickly prompted the driving school to issue him a full refund on the condition that he never get behind the wheel of an automobile again.
Undaunted, Johnny scheduled his driving test anyway. On the day of his test, Johnny's family fretted over their rosary beads and prayed that both he and the test official made it back alive. Johnny returned from his test, as was his custom, in silence. Two weeks later, a letter arrived from the D.M.V. that contained Johnny's New York State Driver's License.
To this day, there is debate as to how he obtained that license. Was it a computer foul-up? Did he bribe the instructor? Divine intervention? Whatever the real reason, one thing is certain: Johnny Lambert achieved, beyond hope, the second of his lifelong goals.
So the next time your alarm clock rips through the serenity of your dreams, and you awaken to the notion that you just can't stomach the thought of another work day with your nose to the grindstone, take a moment and think about Johnny Lambert and the determination he had to achieve what most of us take for granted.
(Postscript: Johnny Lambert's driving career lasted one day. He took the family car and made it one block, from where he telephoned back home to report that he had hit two parked cars and stranded the vehicle on someone's front lawn. He happily retired his set of car keys, but proudly carried that license with him for the rest of his life. Long may your spirit shine, Johnny.)