Tampa General Dishwasher Embodies the Spirit of Christmas

Childhood was not easy for Delwyn Collins. His mother loved him and raised him well, and he is thankful for that.

School was hard, though. Collins and his mother were told—incorrectly—that he was mentally retarded. "That's what they called me—mentally retarded," says Collins, 51 a dishwasher and kitchen assistant for 20 years at Tampa General Hospital. "I grew up as a handicapped. I went to a special education school. I had a slow learning problem. I had a hard time trying to read and write and spell out words. What was so hard about it, I had people making fun of me."

Rather than sinking into bitterness, Collins uses his childhood hardships as motivation. "I don't have no regret what I went through," he says. "What I went through was hard, and when I think about it I am blessed today to be where I am at now. I came this far and now I'm giving something to the community what my mother gave to me," he says. "I show the people as a handicapped kid, what I went through, if I can make it on my own somebody else can too."

For 20 years, Collins has been the heart and soul of TGH in the annual Hillsborough County Foster Angel Program, which provides Christmas gifts for many of the county's more than 1,500 foster children. TGH has been the highest donor of gifts to the program every year since 1989, and a good deal of the credit goes to Collins, who donates at least 300 gifts himself each year. He also makes many of the Christmas decorations that adorn the hospital.

For Collins, the spirit of the holidays is a 12-month endeavor. He moonlights all year, doing yard work in his spare time, and uses all his overtime earnings at the hospital to buy gifts for foster children, spending a few dollars each month to stock the toy chest.

"I keep my bills caught up. I don't overdo it. I don't go places," Collins says, when asked how he accomplishes so much on a dishwasher's salary. "When I get paid I pay my rent and my other bills and I keep some money in the bank for myself. It's like somebody said, after 20 years you should retire doing this. But it don't bother me. I'm used to it. I made it this far and I'm going to try to stick it out for as long as I can."

Collins is single, and lives modestly. He doesn't own a car. He is legally blind and rides his bicycle six miles to work each morning. "It keeps me fit," he says.

Despite all he does for the foster children, Collins keeps his distance. "I have a rule. I don't like to meet them. I would rather let them have their privacy. I respect what they go through," he says. "A lot of these kids go through some hard times. They know somebody else is trying hard to make their Christmas good."

Collins says Christmas means sharing what you have with those who don't, whether they're foster children or people down on their luck. "This week I had people who needed some money on the street so I gave them a couple of dollars for bus fare or to just get by," he says. "I'm not a millionaire and I don't own a car, but what I do makes me feel good on the inside."