Real People/Hats Off to Al
A Crossing Guard’s Awakening
Al Novreske never knew how much he meant to his hometown until he experienced a health crisis—and strangers responded
ONE THING I was really good at in the Army: I could yell. As a drill sergeant, I was so mean that recruits called me Lucifer. Now I try to keep that loud guy under wraps.
When I started working as an elementary school crossing guard nine years ago, my wife, Carla, said I’d look more approachable if I wore silly hats. It seemed to work. The kids started high-fiving me as they crossed the street. Passing motorists would wave to me, and I’d always wave back. Some folks have told me they changed their routes to work so they could start their day with a wave and a smile from me.
Now I have a collection of more than 50 hats I can choose from—sports team hats, comic character hats, animal hats and food hats, like hot dogs and pies. On my birthday, I wear a hat shaped like a big cake with candles.
But once in a while the drill sergeant in me comes out. One day a boy ran into the street, and when I went to grab him back, a teenage driver came by and nearly hit us. I chewed that driver out good. Then I smiled and told him, “For the rest of your life, just remember, you got chewed out by a guy with a hot dog on his head!”
My post is right across from the elementary school, five blocks from my house—it’s the same school I went to as a kid. A year ago in January, I had just returned home from my afternoon shift when suddenly I could hardly breathe. I called 911, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up after triple bypass heart surgery. Then it started: I got so many cards and gifts, many from people I’d never met. The police sent me flowers. Kids’ parents came to visit. Other families supplied our family with all our meals. In spite of all the kindness, I went through a lot of fear and depression. I could no longer sit in the same chair where I fell ill. But Carla helped my mood by taping up every single card and letter so I could always see them.
That March, I went back to work. Everyone seemed so excited. They were honking horns. The bus drivers were all waving. It just felt good to be appreciated. The EMTs and firefighters who answered my 911 call got awards at a town council meeting. A council member said they were honored for saving “a hometown hero.”
I’m not a hero. I’m just a crossing guard who doesn’t want kids to get hurt. But until I almost died, I had no idea people noticed me, that I had that much of an impact. A little smile in the morning means a lot, I guess. —As told to Susan G. Hauser
Army veteran and retired machinist Allen Novreske, 69, lives in Chesterton, Indiana.