The Custodian — Behind the Story

When I first began teaching at the community college that hosts our regional program with a marine science focus, I was given some simple yet sage advice: make friends with the custodians.

So true.

Need a table? Have a broken chair? Forgot your keys and need a door unlocked? Have a student with a bloody nose? Trust me, you wanted to befriend the custodians. If you are having a Thanksgiving party, make sure you bring them a plate. If the students are doing a Christmas cookie exchange, set aside a few for the custodians. It pays to take care of the people who take care of you.

One such savior was Sam, a soft-spoken older gentleman who was never in a hurry. He shuffled down the hallway pushing his trolley and saying hello to everyone. Sam was a man of few words, but in his quietness I read an uncommon kindness.

There were days when I arrived early to work and found Sam on his morning break. He’d be in a computer lab, sitting at a classroom computer wearing wireframe glasses perched on the end of his nose, a paper cup of coffee to the side of his mousepad.

I never knew what Sam was doing those mornings. I liked to think he was checking emails, corresponding with distant family members and chuckling to himself at stories they told about a great nephew or grandchild. Or better yet, I imagined Sam checking his stock portfolio and messaging his broker, finding ways to create a fat retirement account from his modest wages.

I liked to think that Sam’s quiet and simple demeanor as a custodian was all just for show, a facade. A ruse to fool the self-important academics like myself, that hid his sophisticated nature that he kept private. (If you read that sentence and hear Morgan Freeman’s voice as Red from The Shawshank Redemption, I’d be more than okay with that.)

Sam retired several years ago, and I never did gain any insights into the man. Was he married? Did he live close by? What did he drive?

I miss him, but I hope he’s on a beach somewhere, living well, drinking fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas, and enjoying his retirement.

Unrelated, earlier this month my stepmom (Harriet, Hattie, Grammy, Hatch … ) sent me an unusual text message: “Write me a story about a custodian named Bushmiller Fochwad, please! Don’t tell your dad!”

One of my dad’s favorite pastimes is to invent words. Here are just a few:

• Blivet (n.) Ten pounds of poop in a five pound bag. Generally used to refer to the diaper filled by an infant beyond its natural weight capacity.

• Frooder (n.) (Alt. “fruder”) Any remote control device, including (but not limited to) garage door openers, TV remotes, and car key fobs.

• Piggle (n.) A scant amount of food left at the end of a meal. Specifically, too little to bother saving in a storage container.

My stepmom relayed the story that, while watching a movie, dad named the custodian “Bushmiller Fochwad.” Hence the story, “The Custodian,” was born. That’s all it took, a name. I think Tolkien (and his legions of fans) would understand; you hear a name and a story is born. The more I thought about the name, the more real he became. And the more real he became, the more I saw the high school where I attended and then taught for 20 years. The floors, windows, lockers, and classrooms are all that school.

As Bushmiller became real, I wanted to fight some stereotypes and I thought about Sam. I wanted a custodian who wasn’t what he seemed, who was invisible much of the time, but in reality was so much more. When the delinquents came along, I wanted them to buck the tropes as well. (And if I came a little too close to Ally Sheedy playing Allison Reynolds in The Breakfast Club, my apologies. I don’t even think I’ve watched the entire movie!!)

In the end, this story has a lot more of “me” in it than most. (Some of you might even think the custodian—who isn’t Sam—bears more than a passing resemblance to someone from your past … possibly.) But that’s what made it fun to write and send out into the universe. And hopefully, made it a better story.

Still, “The Custodian” wouldn’t have existed without my dad and stepmom. Thanks, guys. Love you.

Thanks for reading,

—phillip