Doughnuts Represent A Circle Of Hope

He asks me to stop by Room 236 at the retirement home to see him. He’s got a story to tell.

But don’t wait too long. “The subject is timeless, but the participants are not,” he says.

So you meet 92-year-old Don Slaybaugh and you begin listening to the story he wants to tell, and pretty soon you find yourself smiling and feeling better than you have in a long time.

Pretty soon you’re forgetting about O.J. and gangs, about hate and vengeance, about all the things that have left a heavy coat of grime covering this city.

You find yourself thinking that this old man’s story is the perfect antidote for a city looking to shake off this poisonous depression and find something to smile about.

That it’s an elixir as old and tried and true as a bowl of chicken soup.

A story of giving and receiving, but most of all - a story of respect and wisdom.

It begins one day in August in a Northridge doughnut shop across the street from the retirement home where Don has lived the past three years, alone in Room 236 since his wife died.

Every morning, like clockwork, he walks across Roscoe Boulevard, picks up a Daily News out of the rack, and walks inside Foster’s Donuts, where the woman behind the counter has his cup of coffee and chocolate-covered doughnut waiting for him.

He never pays much attention to the clientele around him, he says, but on this morning, the shuffling of feet and noise made him look up from his newspaper to see about 10 kids standing at the counter.

Three of the kids ordered doughnuts and went to a corner table to begin devouring them. Another child ordered a carton of milk, another orange juice. The others just milled around, he says.

“I usually don’t butt into other people’s business, but I walked over and asked the woman with them why the other kids weren’t having any doughnuts,” Don said, holding the big manila envelope in his lap like it was a pot of gold.

The teacher told Don it was treat day for her summer school class at Northridge Middle School. The children were supposed to bring money from home so they could buy themselves some doughnuts, but most of the kids came to school today like they did everyday, she said - with nothing in their pockets.

Don thought about that for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket for the price of a dozen doughnuts - four bucks and some change.

Then he went back to his newspaper.

“The strangest thing happened,” he says. “The children started coming up to me one by one with a doughnut in one hand, extending their other hand to shake mine.

“Most of them were boys, but there was one little girl with a shy smile. I got kind of embarrassed and got up to leave. The woman with them stopped me and asked what my name was and where I lived.

“I told her not to bother any, that I lived across the street and what I did I did for myself.”

Then, Don Slaybaugh walked back home and did what he has done every day for the past three years - began writing in his journal. Today, he would be writing longer than most days - writing about some sweet kids he had just met.

“Four days later, this arrived,” Don says, holding up his manila envelope. “Inside were seven of the sweetest letters you ever saw in your life - each in its own style and each addressed to me.

“I know the teacher probably made it a class project to write me a thank you, but the words and feelings were so beautiful. Some of the kids said I reminded them of their grandfathers. All of them said they loved me.

“I’m an old man living alone in a room. I read them and started crying.”

Later that afternoon, Don walked downstairs and asked another resident at the retirement home - a former teacher - what he should do.

“She thought I should write one letter back to the Class of ‘95 at the school, so that’s what I did,” Don says, unfolding a copy of the letter and starting to read from his elixir of life for a city that needs to take a deep breath and appreciate something good going on out there for a change.

He greets everyone at the school and thanks the kids who sent him letters. “Even if you enjoyed your doughnuts, it was I who got the greater pleasure out of being with you,” he begins.

“It was fun and made me happy. I’m 92 now, so it has been a long time since I was your age. I have learned a lot during those years. If I hadn’t gotten a good start at school and taken the next step in education and in life, learning from the experiences of others, I’d still probably have known that 2 and 2 equals 4.

“But I wonder if I ever would have realized that 3 and 1 equals 4, also,” Don writes. “There are many different things in life that end up the same. For instance, every person we see or meet is a human being and should be treated as human beings.

“This creed I live by. So, in my life, you are my friends, and I am most pleased to be your friend.”

And then, in this elixir of life as it should be, Don Slaybaugh quotes Shakespeare. “To thine own self be true,” he tells his new friends.

“I’ll try - will you? Your friend, Don.”

That’s the story from Room 236 where the subject is timeless, but the participants are not.