Fant Jarrett's blue shirt identifies him as a volunteer at Arkansas Children's Hospital in Little Rock. Every Wednesday morning finds him on the job in the playroom close to the neonatal and pediatric intensive care units, dialysis and surgery.
Week after week for 20 years, Jarrett has arrived for the 9 a.m. to noon shift -- thousands of volunteer hours. But playroom supervisor Esther Pipkin knows to expect him no later than 7:30 Wednesday mornings, often bringing craft projects that he has half-assembled at home, leaving just the fun stuff to finish.
"That's something he won't tell you," she predicts, and sure enough, he doesn't. But he will say why he's there.
"This is a safe area," the 78-year-old Jarrett assures children amid the room's sunny surroundings of games and toys, and a play kitchen he built.
"Doctors can't come here," he says -- not with their tests and questions and things that might hurt a little. In the playroom, there are no reminders of illness, save the young patients' red and yellow hospital wrist bands.
These boys and girls need medical care. But what goes on in the playroom is important, too, Jarrett says.
Play is the medicine he doses out. "I've never seen anyone put the word 'therapy' behind it," he says, "but that's what it is."
Clinically speaking, play therapy is a form of counseling or psychotherapy, but Jarrett is no more clinical-looking than a paper party hat. His face seems incapable of anything but a smile.
Observations, yes -- he watches for children as they're able to forget for a little while how sick they are. And evaluation -- he evaluates what it means that a child in the playroom is a child in charge.
Pick anything to do. Make a butterfly out of construction paper and a clothespin? Fine, and it doesn't matter how the project turns out.
This playful gent in the blue shirt -- Mr. Fant, they call him -- he's seen a lot of paper butterflies, and he can tell you there is no such thing as a bad butterfly.
He recalls when he joined as a new volunteer, he said straight out he was not interested in office work, not looking to boss anybody. But would it be possible to do something that makes a positive difference? Would it be possible to see that difference right away, right in front of him? Anything like that?
Retired as a software manager for the Xerox Corp. in California, the Marked Tree native had come back to Arkansas with his wife, Lee, to -- fish? Fishing was the idea. But how many fish does a man really need?
"I decided to start volunteering," Jarrett says. "I had a great career. I thought it was time to start giving back a little bit."
He took a try at reading books to children at the hospital, still not quite sure why -- maybe because, like Dr. Seuss, he never had children of his own.
Storybooks led to the greater commitment of regular hours in the playroom and helping manage special events such as holiday celebrations and taking toys to children who are too sick to leave their rooms.
"I've done a lot of other volunteering work outside the hospital,'' Jarrett says -- church work, Salvation Army. "But this is the one that brings me the most joy.
"I can see the impression I'm making," he says, "and I know whether my time has affected a child or the child's family."
Jarrett is among about 350 volunteers at Arkansas Children's Hospital, director of volunteer services Robin Reynolds says. The count includes therapy dogs, and includes the pooch that Jarrett fetches to the playroom as part of his morning's routine.
Volunteers help in many ways throughout the hospital, from office duties to the gift shop, Reynolds says. Jarrett's position might seem unusual, but it's hardly the unlikeliest.
Right now, she is looking in particular "for musicians to play in our clinics," she says. Music, like play, is of medical benefit.
Jarrett's time on the job rates the attention that goes with 20th anniversaries, but at least two other volunteers have served longer, she says. The records don't go back far enough to name the all-time longevity champ.
In fact, this entire story should be about the hospital, not about him, Jarrett says in an aside to the newspaper reporter.
"Arkansas Children's Hospital is a jewel that people don't know they have," he says, "not unless they have a child here."
The state's only pediatric hospital, it started as an orphanage in 1912. Today's hospital campus covers 36 city blocks, with hundreds of doctors and specialties including heart surgery.
That said, Jarrett's devotion is to one room with what looks like a shade tree in the middle -- the artificial trunk masking a support column -- and a rooftop play area outside with a swing that accommodates wheelchairs.
Is it always such a happy thing to be surrounded by children -- or sometimes, knowing the troubles they endure so unfairly, too sad to bear? It doesn't take a wheelchair to remind him they can't play all the time. He sees parents so worried, even play is a worry for them.
"It can bring some tears to your eyes" Jarrett says. He has to mentally brace himself to work with burn patients. He can't let them see the hurt he feels. "But I don't get depressed about it," Jarrett says. "I don't get depressed at all. Too many good things happen.
"When the shift ends, I think how blessed I am to be able to come to work here," he adds.
And about that name of his, Fant: "It's a surname," he explains. "I was named for a friend of my father's.
"But I tell everybody it's short for fantastic."
Arkansas Children's Hospital welcomes volunteer assistance in areas including the nursing units, waiting rooms, infant and toddler units, the teen room, animal therapy and other assignments. A screening process is required.
More information is available at archildrens.org or by calling (501) 364-1825.
High Profile on 07/03/2016