One Good Deed

Normally, Peter tried to ignore or avoid these kinds of "too good to be true" hoaxes. But this one made him curious. Oh, sure, it was typical of these sorts of sucker-born-every-minute schemes, but there was just something about the way this one unfolded.

Despite his better judgment, Peter found himself milling around outside Food Towne with a crowd of other spectators, waiting the arrival of the mayor of Rochester, his honor, Robert Duffy. He wiggled his way through the press of people to see if he could glimpse the now famous poster mounted in the front window of the humble little grocery store.

If he stood on tiptoe, he could just manage to see the white sheet of unlined paper with the careful black crayon lettering. "Contest. Win $100,000. Do the best good deed of anyone in North Chili on March 1, 2010. Prize will be awarded to winner(s) in ten days."

That was it. No indication of who was sponsoring the contest, whether it was a bona fide offer, what the rules were, how it was to be judged. Or who would do the judging. Gotta be a fake. Some kid joking around. Who would believe such nonsense? Peter looked around. Obviously a lot of people did believe it. Or at least hoped there was some truth to it.

A sudden flurry of activity interrupted Peter's reverie. The mayor had arrived. All this over a prank. Peter shook his head. Bad enough the local newspaper, the Gates-Chili Post, had run a small article on the sudden inexplicable appearance of the sign in their "Your Life" section. Peter had read the short paragraph. Basically, when the owners had opened the store last Tuesday, the sign was there, but no one remembered given anyone permission to post it on Monday. A puzzlement.

The mayor stepped to the impromptu platform and tapped the microphone, then cleared his throat. TV cameras swung into position and reporters quietly set up the scenario. Rolling. Peter used the opportunity to examine the sign more closely. Nothing extraordinary about it. Just a sheet of paper with hand lettering in black crayon. Nice enough looking, but a far cry from professional.

Surprisingly, the mayor came out in favor of going along with the idea. What could it hurt for people to do a few good deeds? And if nothing came of it, well, nothing would be lost. And maybe some good would come of it. Peter smirked. Right. The mayor had just thrown open the door to mass hysteria and one-upsmanship. He, for one, would not be participating in this silliness. Though certainly he was in a position to help the less fortunate.

After the mayor left, people stood around in little groups, speculating. Some outlined ideas of what might constitute a good deed - most of them involving substantial amounts of money. Others shook their heads, convinced that it was all a lie. Slowly they drifted off, some to work, others to Jitters for a cup of coffee and more speculation.

And so it began. Over the next few weeks, the Post was inundated with reports of good deeds to be done on the designated day. They would be hard pressed to cover even a tenth of the suggested benevolences. One elderly woman announced that she would donate $10,000 to Aurora House, the new hospice on Union Avenue. Remarkable since she had always lived in a rather run down home in Churchville. Who knew she had that kind of money?

Another man sent pictures of his warehouse stocked full of blankets and shoes, his intended donation to the homeless in the Rochester area. The local family restaurant announced that on the designated day, all meals would be free. They were encouraging the less fortunate and down on their luck to come and feast. A young housewife reported that she would be donating her kidney to a total stranger, out of the goodness of her heart.

And so it went, each report more amazing than the last, and fully covered in detail. The national wire picked up the story, and TV crews appeared a few days before the big day. The hunt was on for the perpetrator of this remarkable contest, some clue as to the validity of the offer. But no matter how hard reporters worked, they could uncover no hint as to the creator of the sign. No one had seen it go up, or knew of anyone who might concoct the idea.

At last, the big day arrived. At the stroke of midnight, the good Samaritans were unleashed and frantically performed their good deeds. Everyone got caught up in the fervor of the event. Children wandered about, eager to assist old women across the street. Teenagers scoured the ditches and byways for trash to collect and dispose of properly. People hugged everyone they met, anxious to prove their good will.

The poor and downtrodden were overwhelmed with generosity, receiving more help in one short day than they normally got all year. They cried at their good fortune. The sick and lonely were embraced. People visited, brought home made soups, sat and chatted as if it were the most important thing in life. Those with extra clothes weeded their closets and gave away anything they did not need. Hordes of citizens visited people in prison, listening to their stories, wanting to help in some way.

Rainy day funds were ravaged as people rushed to help each other. People cancelled their cruises in the balmy Caribbean to donate the funds to charities like the Red Cross and FoodLink, waving their receipts over their heads like some grand prize. Some stood outside in their yards, sporting the proof of their altruism clearly, in hopes that the circling satellites were picking it up. Others rushed to adopt children, to join the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program.

Peter watched it all in amazement, shocked at the total involvement of the small community. It was just a hand made sign. No one ever paid attention to signs. The world had gone berserk. By midnight, the hoopla had reached an incredible frenzy. Somewhere along the line, the contest had been forgotten. No one seemed to remember what caused all this energy and - yes - caring.

Bands appeared and began playing free of charge. People danced in the streets, hugging, laughing, crying, happy. Free food and medical care flowed like wine in the parking lot of the plaza where it all began. The place was packed.

No one was paying any attention to the time. The contest was over, but no one seemed to care, they were so caught up in the moment. No one wanted to go home. Those who had done the most impressive good deeds never bothered to ask who won. They felt good about what they had done, all thought of reward gone. People chatted long into the night, meeting their neighbors for the first time, catching up with friends, celebrating life. It was terrific.

Finally, in the wee hours of dawn, the crowds began to thin. Happy, contented people wandered home to drift off to deep, satisfying sleep, even those who had not had a decent night's sleep in decades. Stomachs were full, hearts were warmed, people were cared for. Perhaps the mayor had been right. No one had been hurt, really. And lots of good had come of it.

Still, would anyone be tapped as having done the best good deed? Would anyone get a check? Time would tell. The next day, the Post began a count down, asking anyone who got the award to step forward and let people know. Every day for the next ten days, the paper featured stories of deeds done, lives changed, relationships mended, people cured from disease, families created, love abounding.

Though there was never an outpouring like on that day, the after effects of the contest lingered on. People smiled at each other and took time to talk with others. Visits to the sick and lonely continued, programs to help those in prison were developed. The man with the warehouse of supplies for the homeless announced that he would continue to receive donations to distribute to those in need. Aurora House built a whole new wing and hired 6 new staff. The streets stayed clean and the desire to help others continued.

Peter had to admit that as hoaxes go, this one was a doozie. And in a good way. Yet, he waited. It was as if he were watching a very slow moving New Year's Eve ball descend. What would happen if someone really did get a check for $100,000? The town waited with bated breath. 8 days, 9 days, 10 days. No announcement came forth. Maybe the check was delayed in the mail.

People continued to watch the paper. A week went by, then two. Good deeds and good will began to fade a bit, but the community remained in a better place than before the contest. A month, and still no announcement of anyone being blessed with a grand amount of money. Peter felt his skepticism was justified. No one would get anything out of this ridiculous contest. Bah!

One quiet accountant in a small firm in the city had taken an interest in the contest. He had carefully tracked and calculated the monetary donations and deeds as the Post recorded them, including all the reports for the ten day waiting period. He tallied up his columns, checking his figures. Some of the amounts were the best guesstimate based on current market value. Some things he had had a difficult time assigning a monetary value.

But when all was said and done, by his best efforts, he calculated the total amount of the charities performed to be somewhere in the vicinity of $107, 518. He was floored. And he wasn't sure what to do with the information. He called his friend Peter to report what he had discovered.

And somewhere in the upper levels of celestial abode, Gabriel nodded to a feisty young cherub wielding a black crayon. Not bad, for a first attempt. Not bad at all.