J could fix anything. He was the last of a dying breed of tinkerers. Whenever a tenant would leave behind something that was broken, but fixable, D, our maintenance man, would say “Let me bring it over to J. He can fix it.” I have no idea what became of that stuff after J tinkered with it, but I think D brought most of it just to give J something useful to do in his retirement.
J was, in a way, a father-figure to D. They both fixed things, and D would often stop in on his days off to check on J, or do his food shopping when he couldn’t get around.
So it was sad, yet fitting, that D was the one who found J dead one morning, still in his bed. But sadder still were his children, who I never saw or heard from in the 15 years J was a tenant. Two of them showed up in my office and accused D of stealing from their father.
What a joke.