Twenty-four/seven media and the desperate need to fill airtime have spawned a new type of celebrity: people who are famous just for being famous. These pseudo-stars don’t have any discernible talent other than the ability to get attention, usually for being obnoxious. They never seem to think beyond how much play they can get for the next sound bite—which was evident when the Today show’s Al Roker asked one hot “reality” couple if they were proud of the embarrassing behavior that brought them notoriety. They didn’t seem to understand the question.

Despite evidence to the contrary, though, it is possible to touch lives in a positive way, to be remembered for something other than acting like a jerk. Ernie Harris was a perfect example.

A simple success

Ernie Harris wasn’t famous. He didn’t run a multinational corporation. He didn’t serve in the U.S. Congress. By the world’s skewed standards of “success,” Ernie … wasn’t. He held a simple job—valet for an upscale Chicago apartment building. He spent his days in the rain, sleet, and snow parking other people’s luxury cars. And since he couldn’t afford a car of his own, each day he made the two-hour trip to work and the two-hour trip home by bus.

But in the 30 years he spent working at that Chicago high rise, Ernie did more than park the residents’ cars. He also listened to their stories and brightened their days. Whatever may have been going on in his own life or on the streets around him, Ernie never failed to point out that it was a “beautiful day.” On Fridays he’d remind them they only had one more day to go until their weekend. And he didn’t just remember the names of the residents. He also remembered the names of their spouses, their kids, and their friends. He assured overprotective parents he’d keep a watchful eye on their children.

In short, Ernie treated people with love and kindness—which they reciprocated.

While the residents simply contributed to the Christmas funds of the other valets, they made sure to generously tip Ernie year round. When they went out to dinner, they brought him back treat bags. And through the years they sent him hundreds of cards and letters thanking him for his many acts of caring. He kept the letters in oversize shopping bags that he carried everywhere, a constant reminder of the love he doled out and the love that came back to him.

A lasting impression

Then one February morning in 2001, 48-year-old Ernie failed to show up for work, alarming coworkers accustomed to seeing him arrive early for his 3 p.m. shift. About 5:30, his wife phoned to say Ernie wouldn’t be back—ever. Just a month earlier, he’d finally saved enough money to buy a used car. That day on his way to work he’d been killed in an attempted carjacking.

Residents of the apartment building immediately set up a makeshift memorial to their beloved valet. Two days later when his wife and youngest son came to clean out his locker, hundreds lined up to offer condolences. They even set up a trust fund to pay for the remainder of his son’s college education.

No, Ernie Harris wasn’t famous. And the first time his name appeared in the newspaper was probably when Chicago Tribune reporter Kirsten Scharnberg wrote the sad story of his death. But for 30 years, Ernie had a positive impact on the people around him, and he left behind hundreds who genuinely loved and missed him. That’s a mark to be proud of.