Back in the early ’70s, I was teaching in a fairly large public high school in New Jersey, just outside New York City. The school had a growing new population from diverse backgrounds, notably Haitian. These young people, and their families, in many cases, were fleeing the tyrannical rule of Papa Doc Duvalier. Their English language skills were quite limited. In most instances they spoke French and the more common and universal language of their native country, Haitian Creole. Faculty and administration needed help as we tried to integrate concepts and skills that would help the new students adjust and communicate. This, as you might imagine, was not an easy task and one for which there had been little planning.

We were all saved, to varying extent, by a wonderful and talented young lady faculty member who, with our help, developed an ESL (English as a Second Language) program designed to encourage better student participation in a new school and community. This required a lot of “extra” effort on the part of faculty, and students, who were not familiar with these limitations, especially involving a hybrid language. We spent much additional time working with each other hoping to develop new approaches to communication. I will always be grateful for those individuals who spent extra time before and after school and in the community trying to help our new arrivals.

That experience came back to me in a funny way a couple weekends ago as l entered the Southport bridge zone from the island approach side of things.

There was not much traffic, thankfully, as I cruised up behind an out-of-state car quite full of passengers, stopped at the edge of the Robinson’s Wharf parking lot. Inside the car, which had a rental bar code on the rear window, I could see individuals inside the car with some serious gesturing going on. Being who I am, I pulled in behind the car to see if there was anything I could do to help. As I walked toward the car I could see that these were not local folks nor were they very comfortable with my approaching them, regardless of my helpful intent.

I asked the driver, who rolled down his window, if I could help with anything. The look I got in return was not overly warm, maybe even a bit annoyed. He held up a device that looked like a cell phone, with words scrolled across the screen. “BRIDGE POSTED AHEAD.” “30 TONS.”

An animated voice spoke the words in English. I was instantly taken back to my teaching days and our ESL adventures. This could get complicated.

I spoke back to the device because I figured it was all I could do, hoping my words would be translated. But in my head I wondered how their initial passage across the bridge had gone! I chose not to open that can of worms! Why complicate matters. I chose my default option and spoke the following words at the electronic device: “Please follow me,” as I smiled broadly!

I pulled my car in front of the visitors and they followed me up to the stopping place, awaiting the green light. The light changed and off we went. I pulled over at “Four Corners” and waved as the group continued on toward the Harbor with generous waves in return.

Communication can be so helpful sometimes.