FOUNTAIN: They see a need. And they want to make a difference

Through the snow, the cold and rain. In sickness and in health. Upon the Thursday morning light, they arrive. The men. My brothers.

A core contingent, they are black and white. Armed with books or simply with good spirit, a warm smile and magnetic energy that infiltrates the school’s halls, spills like sunshine into classrooms filled with little voices.

Soon after the school’s intercom crackles, after a boy or girl has shared the “word of the day,” after the school’s pledge and the Pledge of Allegiance are recited, the reading soldiers known as Real Men Read march to classrooms to do their due diligence.

“Good morrrninnng, Misss-ter Wor-me-lyyy…”

“Good morrrninnng, Misss-ter Riiick…”

“Good morrrninnng, Misss-ter Kev-innn…”

Such is the chime of children as each man enters their respective classroom.

“Good morrrninnng, Misssterr Foun-tainnnn … ”

“Good morrrninnng, boyeees and girrrls,” I typically respond, energized by their simple gaiety, innocence and spirit.

The children. They are a beaming reminder of why we are here. The children. Always the children.

This is our third year reading to children at south suburban Matteson Elementary School with an enrollment of 453 students kindergarten through third grade.

The men come from near and far — the northwest suburbs, Joliet, and Chicago’s South Side among other places.

Among the readers are engineers, police officers and firemen, village officials, a circuit court judge, men from all walks. They answered my call made initially in a column in 2015.

We’ve had as many as 40 men at our Thursday gathering. I am grateful for them all but especially a core group of about 10 who have committed to showing up every Thursday.

Mostly they are middle age and seniors — men who at this season in their lives have raised their own families, retired once or twice, some approaching their golden years with an ease that settles over good and decent men who have come face to face with their own mortality.

I affectionately call them — us — “Old Faithful.” For good reason.

None of the core group who have read on Thursdays over the last three years — with the exception of one — has children, grandchildren or even relatives who attend the predominantly African-American elementary school, where 87 percent of students are from low-income families.

John Fountain/For the Sun-Times

And yet, they have come. The draw isn’t complicated. None of the men wants a pat on the back or gives a damn about their name being mentioned in some newspaper article. They’re not trying to get on TV, not seeking pay, a plaque or even credit.

Simply: They see a need. And they want to make a difference. To sow good seeds that someday may sprout into beautiful flowers long after they themselves are pushing up daisies.

I have come to call these men my brothers in the struggle — drawn together by the prospect of helping to lift the community called humanity. Brothers willing to get off the couch of criticism, complaint and do-nothingness.

We are brothers despite our varying backgrounds and pigments or any differences that may exist in our religious faiths. And they are brothers who have reminded me of an invaluable lesson: That our strength as men does not necessarily lie in large numbers but in the committed, selfless sacrificial service of even a few good men.

Indeed nothing — absolutely nothing — has been able to keep them away. Not cancer, not diabetes or deafness, not high blood pressure or chemo or any of the assorted ailments, illnesses and potential barriers we collectively have faced over the last three years.

Upon the Thursday morning light, they arrive faithfully. The men. My brothers. For the children.

Wishing Brother Kevin a speedy recovery.

Email: Author@johnwfountain.com

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