Sorda Prince was my hero. He was a man of few words that didn’t talk a lot. He didn’t boast or brag. While tall and powerfully strong, he was a quiet, non-assuming man. He left the loud, boisterous antics to others. He never talked about himself, but found immense pleasure in learning about others.
His life began in Arkansas less than a decade into the 20th Century. Born in 1909 into the southern Jim Crow days, he quietly lived his life, growing into a man while witnessing unfathomably cruel atrocities. He remained strong, and resolute, moving away from a life in Dixie to the hopes of better opportunities in the industrial rich north. He settled in the small town of Massillon, Ohio, where he went to work a the steel mill. But, life wasn’t finished with Sorda Prince. The years he spent doing back-breaking work at the mill, led to an early retirement, and a lifetime of disability. As a result, he spent his remaining years on earth, walking hunched over, unable to stand fully erect. But it didn’t stop him. He bought a truck and started a light hauling and a ‘fixit’ business.
When he came into my life, back in 1963, I was a very young, curious kid who asked far too many questions and came across as a bit of a pest. I met him when my mother hired him for an odd job – to fix the broken steps leading to our front porch. He was kind to me, and humored me by answering all of my pestering questions. Most grown folk would have shooed me away. But I think he somehow enjoyed my company.
We became friends and soon, I began to follow him just about everywhere. He was the only father figure I had in my life; my mother being a single parent to me and my two brothers and five sisters. I went everywhere with him in his blue, International Harvester pickup truck.
Sometimes I would accompany him on his odd jobs and help him move other peoples stuff and clean up their trash. Though in constant pain, I never knew him to complain, regardless of how hard or filthy we found the work in front of us. He always remained focused on the task at hand and never brought attention to his ailments or troubles. God could not have bought a finer role model into my life.
While he couldn’t read or write, he was brilliant in so many other ways. He could repair things without a manual. He built structures that were perfectly measured and aligned. His eye for detail was impeccable. We made a great team. Though just young myself, what I learned in school about reading and writing, I happily shared with him. I was with him on the day when he smiled proudly after signing a contract with his name, and not an “x”, for the first time in his life.
Our friendship was short. I thought for sure that he would one day be my father. But God had other plans. On May 1, 1969 at the young age of 59, Sorda Prince unexpectedly left this world. My hurt and disappointment were unimaginable.
Heroes come into our lives without notice. They don’t make a fuss or bring attention to themselves. They do their good deeds and works without credit or mention. Quietly, they leave a indelible mark and lasting impression on our lives. They teach us how to deal with life’s tough lessons and hold us up while we make it through life’s greatest challenges. They ask for nothing in return. Because God made them to be special people.
Just like Sorda Prince.
