The Candy Man
by Wally Collier
Relationships are wonderful when people choose to say yes to life and reach out to share life with others. Herman Van Dyke was blind, using a cane, yet he didn't need it, for children were waiting at the door of our church to usher him to a front pew. Children competed to sit beside him. It may have been his magnetic personality, but more likely the hard candy that filled his pockets. Herman always had a smile as he handed each a wrapped treat. He had a white moustache and an ample build, always dressed in a suit and tie, and his large hands handled his walking cane with ease as he confidently made his way around, smiling as he recognized each child's voice as they talked to their adopted grandfather.
What started as a visit to the Ross nursing home in Brentwood [by several ladies from our church] led to a great adventure for us all. Herman was brought to our worship services where we all got acquainted with this man from Holland who had been a chief on a shipping line before he settled in America. One day the Powells found his room empty. He had complained so much about the service at the home that they had taken him to the Central Islip Hospital. Blind and unable to defend himself, it took the church members to find him and attain his release. He spent a time in a private home, then moved to a nursing home in Babylon. This too led to a crisis, as one night he found the wrong door in the home and fell down a flight of stairs. Bruised by not defeated, he returned from the hospital with no broken bones.
Herman visited our home on many occasions. At our Thanksgiving dinner he asked our son Steve to point out where his food was by the face of a clock. The turkey was at three o'clock, the dressing at twelve and the sweet potatoes at nine. The children loved his stories and spent much time telling him theirs. He was invited to Steve's eighth birthday party. He held our baby Brian and was our surrogate grandfather as the children were growing up. He had a very active mind: received books on tape, read in braille, and was an avid Mets fan. He hated the Yankees because "anyone could buy a team." He was invited to speak in the classroom about being blind and to show them how you read braille. Blindness was not a defeat but an opportunity to offer love, especially to children who needed a friend.
What started as a visit to the Ross nursing home in Brentwood [by several ladies from our church] led to a great adventure for us all. Herman was brought to our worship services where we all got acquainted with this man from Holland who had been a chief on a shipping line before he settled in America. One day the Powells found his room empty. He had complained so much about the service at the home that they had taken him to the Central Islip Hospital. Blind and unable to defend himself, it took the church members to find him and attain his release. He spent a time in a private home, then moved to a nursing home in Babylon. This too led to a crisis, as one night he found the wrong door in the home and fell down a flight of stairs. Bruised by not defeated, he returned from the hospital with no broken bones.
Herman visited our home on many occasions. At our Thanksgiving dinner he asked our son Steve to point out where his food was by the face of a clock. The turkey was at three o'clock, the dressing at twelve and the sweet potatoes at nine. The children loved his stories and spent much time telling him theirs. He was invited to Steve's eighth birthday party. He held our baby Brian and was our surrogate grandfather as the children were growing up. He had a very active mind: received books on tape, read in braille, and was an avid Mets fan. He hated the Yankees because "anyone could buy a team." He was invited to speak in the classroom about being blind and to show them how you read braille. Blindness was not a defeat but an opportunity to offer love, especially to children who needed a friend.