By Geno Teofilo, American Red Cross International Delegate

April 18, 2001

My friend Virgilio is dead.

He died in a fiery car wreck, so pointless an end for someone who gave so much.

Virgilio was never in the Red Cross, but he may as well have been. He's one of those who gave for the cause.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It began in December of 1999, which was in a previous century, but doesn't seem so long ago at all.

The place was Venezuela. Heavy rains came. It rained continuously for four days. When it finally ceased, over 25,000 people were dead from flooding and landslides.

But not Virgilio.

You see, he was fortunate enough to live in an area not devastated by flooding.

But he wanted to help the survivors, and being successful in business, he was in a position to give. He knew of the suffering his countrymen were going through, and though times were tough, he was not going to turn his back on them.

With a food relief program beginning in his area, the American Red Cross came knocking. We were in a bind. We were looking for a warehouse to store all that food, and we weren't having any luck.

Virgilio had a warehouse for us. It would do just fine. And he'd let us use it for free. When I saw it, I couldn't quite believe it. This little warehouse just happened to be the entire first floor of his house. He and his family lived upstairs.

Through the months that the Red Cross food program continued, we made plenty of noise downstairs. Semi-trucks arrived and left at all hours of the day and night. The lot in front of the house was torn up by their huge tires, and try as we might, we couldn't quite get it back to its original condition.

Virgilio never complained once.

Whenever I saw him, I always got three things from him. A smile, a handshake, and a question about what else he could do to help.

When I last saw him, it was after the food program ended. We had a little recognition dinner for all the Red Cross volunteers and local donors who'd helped to make the program such a success.

Virgilio was there. It seemed so insufficient to me, giving him and his family merely a little certificate of appreciation. With his help, the Red Cross had fed over 24,000 people for three months. As I thanked him for all he'd done, I could've predicted his reply. He gave me a smile, a handshake, and the offer that if we ever needed his house as a warehouse in the future, he was at our service.

And now he's gone.

His car was in an accident and caught fire.
They couldn't get out.
His wife died at the scene.
Virgilio died later at the hospital; they left behind two children.

If you've ever worked in developing countries, you may have seen how there is so much poverty, and not enough rich folks who are willing to change that.

Virgilio was one who did.

I wish I could show you a picture of him, but in a way, it's actually fitting that he remain more anonymous. Virgilio would have wanted it that way; he was never in it for himself.

There are so many of you out there, also anonymous, who through your giving, have more impact on other people's lives then you'll ever know. Some of you have written checks. Some of you have volunteered with the Red Cross. Some of you have given blood. So that, like Virgilio, you could help those in need. I only wish that Virgilio, and all of you, could see the fruits of your giving.

I don't want to remember how he died. I don't need that nightmare to haunt me.

I want to remember what he gave.

And the difference that he made.

Here's to you Virgilio.

You made a difference.