The other day, I was coming out of a meeting here at the JT offices when I saw someone approaching me. The man, wearing clothes covered in old paint, was none other than Loring Cornish, the local “outsider artist” whose works about the shared legacy and mission of the African-American and Jewish communities are now being exhibited at the Jewish Museum of Maryland. If you haven’t seen this exhibition yet, do yourself a favor and do so. Loring has a gift and a sense of empathy that might truly be beyond words.

I wrote about Loring two years ago (when he had a somewhat similar show at Morgan State University), and I wrote last month about his current exhibition. Each time, I found him to be an extraordinarily kind, energetic and friendly man who genuinely loves people. He almost seems too good to be true, with his spiritual nature and childlike optimism. In our cynical times, you don’t meet many people like Loring. He’s always like a shot in the arm. You always feel good after seeing him.

Which is why I was delighted to see him the other day. He stretched out his hand to shake mine and asked me how I was doing. But of course, I was a bit puzzled by his sudden appearance. (You have to understand that this man spends night and day working on his art in his West Baltimore rowhouse, when he’s not prowling the streets of “Charm City” for “found objects” for his brilliant pieces.)

“So Loring, what brings you to our office?” I asked him. He simply smiled and said, “Oh, I’ve just been so busy with everything – with the exhibition and stuff – that I realized I never got a chance to thank you and Kirsten [Beckerman, the Jewish Times’ staff photographer] for doing such a great job with the article. You guys here have all been so wonderful to me, I can’t thank you enough.”

This might sound trite, but I was a bit stunned and dumbfounded. Occasionally after I write an article, I get a phone call from someone, thanking me (albeit with some minor kvetches). Maybe an email, or if I happen to run into them somewhere, they’ll happen to remember to say thanks, often in an offhanded way.

But to actually come down and offer gratitude in person, to say how much you appreciate what someone did, well, that’s almost unheard of.

And like a bolt of lightning, Loring was gone, running off to his next appointment or mad creative endeavor, waving and thanking us again for doing our best to get his message heard.

It all made me think about the concept of gratitude, and how—like good etiquette and manners – it’s fallen by the wayside and become a casualty of our hyper-caffeinated, tech-obsessive age, something as antiquated and seemingly out of place as the steam locomotive or churned butter. I’m guilty of it, you’re guilty of it, too. We all are.

There’s a power in saying thank you to someone. It empowers them, to see that the world ain’t so bad after all, and it empowers you to bring that gift to someone and to do the right thing. Now here’s a confession: Sometimes I think that in the Jewish community, we’re even more guilty of not offering thanks to each other than in non-Jewish circles. Of course, I could be wrong about that. People are people, right? Still, without indulging too much in potential stereotyping (or “self-loathing”), it’s a phenomenon of sorts that I’ve often discussed with colleagues in Jewish fields, and I’ve frequently found they feel the same way, that there’s a sense of entitlement and expectation, and a lack of gratitude.

Loring has once again taught me a lesson, something that our moms taught us long ago. It’s important to say thank you. It makes you a mentsch, and it makes the world a more mentschlikeit place. Simple stuff.

Anyway, thanks for listening (or in this case reading).