Honoring Hannah Brencher

Honoring Hannah Brencher

And

My Subway Words to a Stranger

 

            The story of Hannah Brencher’s claim to fame is one of the more interesting stories of our time. It is a story worthy of being told on pen and paper. It is the story of a young woman experiencing depression living in New York City. It is the story of a young woman who grew up in a home where her mother wrote letters with pen and paper to her children while they lived in the same home. So, one day as she was facing depression and noticed someone looking sad, she decided to write a letter to a stranger on a train. The woman she was writing got off the train before she could finish the letter. Eventually Hannah Brencher began writing letters to encourage strangers she had never met. She began leaving them in public places. She began asking people if they knew someone who might need an encouraging letter from a stranger. It became her unique way of reaching out to a world of people in need, a world of people who might feel like she felt when she wished for a letter of love like the ones she read from her mother’s handwritten letters.

 

            Get acquainted with Hannah’s story by reading it at this Reader’s Digest link. Don’t forget to watch the short video in the story.

            Also there is this brief Ted’s talk to watch. O’ please take the time to watch Hannah tell her story on this Ted’s video.

            I want to honor Hannah Brencher by telling you of a story from a magical ride on a New York Subway train when I got to speak what I hope were meaningful words to a stranger.

            I was in New York City on vacation. I had decided to do at least two things in each of New York’s City boroughs. I had been to the Bronx to see the Yankees, but I decided to spend another day in the Bronx. It was raining and chilly and so I went to the zoo. Because of the weather several exhibits were closed as only a few people made it to the zoo that day. I discovered something at the zoo that day. I was visiting from Oklahoma where after having the bison depleted from the prairies during the Indian wars, bison were sent from the Bronx Zoo in 1907 to help repopulate herds in Oklahoma.

 

 

            After visiting the zoo I planned to visit the Little Italy section of the Bronx. But I ended up in a section of the Bronx where I walked for blocks, maybe as much as a mile or two in an area where I was almost the only white person in an area where African Americans and Hispanic Americans lived, worked, and shopped. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Finally I got my bearings and found a street called Belmont. I knew then that I was nearing the Little Italy part of the Bronx, an area that gave rise to Dion and the Belmonts, doo wop, and described in the movie “A Bronx Tale”. It was a rainy Monday evening, when not many people were dining out. But I enjoyed a wonderful Italian meal at this restaurant.

 

 

            It was getting late after I had dinner and found myself looking in vain for the subway. I got messed up in my directions looking for the subway but finding myself near Fordham University I managed to get my directions and found the way to a subway station. I boarded the Manhattan bound train. It was on the train that I noticed a young woman. She would be the person I would later speak to, saying a sentence as I passed by her to get off the train.

            She was writing into a journal or a book. She was absorbed in her writing. Her head was hunkered down frantically writing words. Occasionally her head popped up. The writer in me knew the motions. Frantically writing as words leapt on to the page, and then pausing in search of the most exact word to continue a precious thought. We writers work like miners going into the bowels of the earth to write and coming up to the surface for fresh air and a word that cannot be found with our heads bowed. I was glad she was so absorbed in her writing that she did not notice me. For I suspect I was mesmerized watching her write and wondering if that is how I looked when I was frantically trying to capture a thought to put on paper or into a computer file. I am not sure how long I watched. I only know I wanted to say something to her and wanted not to disturb her. I seldom speak to strangers. She was attractive and was that the reason I wanted to say something to her? Maybe that was part of it. But I was sure that wasn’t the main reason I wanted to speak to her. I was mesmerized primarily by her writing. That was a sight I seldom had the opportunity to watch in another.

It came time for me to get off the train. I chose the door not far from where she was sitting. As I walked past her in a train with only two or three other people I spoke quietly to her and said, “Whether it is for you or for another, good luck with your writing.” She looked up from her writing, smiled and said “Thank you.” I got off the train, and walked along Broadway until I reached close to the Empire State Building. I suppose that in my fantasies I spoke encouraging words to a young woman who would be encouraged to continue writing until she wrote a masterpiece. But life is not about being part of a fantasy. The reality is that I got to wish a stranger well in her writing when it was obvious she was absorbed in her writing. For a moment, a stranger seemed as if on a mutual journey. There was a guy who dreamed of writing watching someone write as if it were part of the dream. There was someone writing who hopefully felt some joy when someone wished her well in her endeavor. It really doesn’t matter if the words I spoke encouraged her or simply receded into the forgotten instances of life. Some of Hannah Brencher’s love letters were picked up and tossed into the trash. Some probably seemed to receive the letters as if the words of encouragement they needed at that very moment. We simply do not know what will happen when we try to encourage another human being.

I am glad that at least this one time I got off the subway train having left a word of encouragement to rest in the mind of another person. It helps me to feel that I got to doing something close to the equivalent of sharing a love letter with a stranger. As I learn of Hannah Brencher’s story I am reminded how important that is. You did a good thing Hannah Brencher choosing to be Juliet to a city.