Most of us who work and study here at NCC are very busy. We hunker down in our classrooms and offices, intent on the business at hand. When we venture out, we’re usually headed from Point A to Point B, a direct trip with no stops along the way. How often do we really look around the campus and see what’s going on all around us?

Luckily for all of us who are lost in our own little worlds, Willard Craig works here as a security officer. I had the opportunity to walk with Willard for a day and tag along on his rounds with him. I’ll never see the College, or the people who work and study here, the same way again.

We started out by crossing the quad from Kopecek Hall to College Center. Right away a student approaches Willard and thanks him.

“You found what you were looking for?” Willard asks. She says yes before smiling and moving on.

We head towards the bookstore. A student in a wheelchair is having a difficult time getting through the doors. Willard is right there, lending a helping hand.

“I look at this job as a father and a security person. I try to combine the two to do my job,” he says.

He works his way effortlessly through the building, saying hello to students, faculty, and staff alike by name.

“To remember is important. I’m observant, but I don’t do it consciously,” Willard says. “I just remember.”

People light up as Willard and I walk through College Center. He knows about their families, their jobs or what they are studying. Willard led me through doorways and into departments I’ve never seen before. I met people face-to-face that I’ve only ever communicated with over the phone or by e-mail. In fact, I met more people in that one day than I have the entire year and a half I have worked here.

But that’s Willard’s job. Talking to people and knowing who is who. And if you think that just means students, faculty, and staff, you’re wrong.

“People like to come and walk on campus, jog, walk their dogs,” Willard says. “It’s mostly people who live nearby. There is one lady who likes to do tai-chi here. I consider myself an ambassador of the college, and I try to get to know everyone.”

You might think Willard’s job is full of aggravation. After all, he’s the one who has got to tell people where they can smoke, where they can park, and other things that people tend to get cranky about.

“People who are a pain are the minority,” he comments. “The people you share your space with affect your life. When you see the same people day in and day out, you become comrades.”

Willard’s comrades were everywhere: in every office we walked into; every person he smiled at. But his biggest fan club could be found at the Reibman Hall Children’s Center. When we walked onto the playground, it was as if Santa Claus himself had appeared. Playground equipment and games of tag quickly paled in comparison to the arrival of Willard. A crowd of children formed around him, wanting to give him a high-five or to say hello.

“A lot of these kids come in as babies. I watch them grow up,” he says as we leave the center. “It’s great when they come back with Horizons for Youth (NCC’s summer program for children). I get to see them again.”

He appreciates the honesty of the kids.

“With the young kids, two plus two equals four,” Willard remarks. “It’s only when you get to be an adult that it comes up another number.”

He can regale you with hours of amusing anecdotes about the kids at the center: how one boy asked him, rather enviously, why he never had to change his clothes, (Willard, like the other security guards, wears a uniform;) how another child wanted Willard to arrest a woman who was smoking a cigarette. When Willard explained she was smoking in a designated area and that it was okay, the boy told the smoker, “If you keep smoking you’re going to die!”

But Willard’s job is not only to keep law and order. He, along with the rest of NCC’s security personnel, is trained in case of an emergency. They have access to a defibulator, oxygen, and a first aid kit that they can use to sustain a person until paramedics arrive.

“And you thought we were just pretty faces,” he says with a grin.

What Willard, who grew up on the Southside, lives by and what shows in every single interaction he has with other people is something his mother taught him. “Everyone needs to know they matter,” he says. “My mom made me know I mattered.”

His positive spirit and endless smile are surprising when you hear some of the tragedies that Willard has endured during his life. One of the most devastating was the loss of his granddaughter, Brooke, who died from muscular dystrophy at the age of thirteen.

“The doctors said she wouldn’t live past the age of three,” he said. “But she made it to thirteen. And that’s because we made sure she knew she mattered.”

Brooke had to use a wheelchair and needed special medical attention. Willard spent three months learning how to care for her so he could help his daughter and her husband.

It’s still hard for him to talk about Brooke. And it’s obvious they had a very strong bond. His relationship with his granddaughter adds a greater understanding of why Willard makes sure to stop and say a few words with all the students with disabilities we encountered on our walk.

“It’s important for everyone to be recognized as a human being,” Willard says. “You can always learn something from somebody. Don’t discount anyone.”

We end our day in Admissions. I’m exhausted. It’s only 2:00 p.m. We’ve been in every building on Main Campus, including the dorms. During our time together, Willard was called to assist people, open doors, and respond to concerns. He did it all with a grace and good humor that is uniquely Willard’s own.

The next time you are running from Point A to Point B, head down and focused only on the task at hand, remember Willard’s words of wisdom and take the time to stop and let people know that they matter.