On a calm July evening in 2014, within the aisles of a Lowe’s store in Staten Island, an incredible act of kindness took place — a moment that would serve as a reminder that compassion can shine brightest in the most unexpected settings.
Michael Sulsona, a Vietnam War veteran who lost both legs in 1971 due to a landmine, had spent years rebuilding his life with resilience and quiet dignity. However, on that summer night, a simple broken wheelchair bolt would remind him — and everyone who later learned of his story — of the profound impact of human kindness.
For two long years, Sulsona had been waiting for the Department of Veterans Affairs to provide him with a new wheelchair. His old one had become unreliable and worn from daily use, yet it remained his sole means of independence. He persevered — until that fateful evening when the inevitable occurred.
While shopping for home supplies, Sulsona suddenly felt his chair give way beneath him. A bolt had completely snapped off. Within moments, he found himself stranded in the middle of the aisle, unable to move. “It just gave out,” he later recalled. “And I thought, well, here we go again.”
But what transpired next was beyond his expectations.
A Lowe’s employee named Sal noticed the predicament and quickly summoned three of his colleagues — David, Marcus, and Souleyman. Without hesitation, they rushed to assist the veteran.
They carefully lifted Sulsona from his broken chair and placed him onto a store chair so they could begin their work. Although the store was closing, the men were undeterred. For them, this was not about rules or regulations — it was about aiding a man who had once served his country and now simply needed help.
With focused determination and a shared sense of purpose, the three employees gathered parts from around the store — nuts, bolts, brackets — anything that could help repair the chair. For nearly 45 minutes, they worked together, their heads bent in concentration, hands moving swiftly yet carefully.
When they finally stepped back, the old wheelchair was restored. Not perfect — but sturdy enough to safely carry Sulsona home.
As the lights dimmed and the store emptied, the veteran looked up at the three men who had provided him with more than just mobility that night. They had given him faith — faith that decency still existed in everyday life, embodied by individuals who didn’t wear uniforms or medals but acted with quiet heroism nonetheless.
In the days that followed, Sulsona shared his story, which spread rapidly, touching hearts across the nation. Messages flooded in from those moved by the simple humanity displayed by three strangers who refused to walk away.
The story eventually reached the Department of Veterans Affairs — and within weeks, the long-awaited new wheelchair finally arrived at Sulsona’s home in New York. It was state-of-the-art, comfortable, and reliable. Yet, in his living room, the old chair remains — the one repaired by three Lowe’s employees who wouldn’t let a veteran leave broken.
“I use it as my backup,” Sulsona said with a gentle smile. “It reminds me that there are good people out there — people who just do the right thing.”
He never viewed the incident as an opportunity to criticize anyone, not even the VA. “This isn’t about pointing fingers,” he stated. “It’s about three guys who saw someone in need and didn’t hesitate. They didn’t seek thanks; they simply acted.”
Perhaps that’s what made his story resonate so profoundly. In a world often characterized by division and indifference, what people witnessed during those 45 minutes after closing time was something pure — an act of kindness that required no spotlight, no recognition, and no reward.
For Sulsona, the moment represented more than a repaired wheelchair. It was a reminder that service can take many forms — sometimes on distant battlefields, and sometimes in the aisles of a hardware store, where compassion becomes the quiet force that propels us all forward.
As he later reflected, “We talk a lot about heroes. That night, I met three of them.”
Eight hundred words could never fully capture the quiet nobility of that evening — but perhaps its lesson is simple enough: we all possess the ability to change someone’s day, to mend something broken, to stand beside another human being. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to keep hope alive.
