Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found;Was blind, but now I see.

-John Newton, Amazing Grace

WARNING: The following story is not for the faint of heart. It is a harrowing tale of two simple, naïve Bainbridge Islanders visiting the big city and becoming victims of a shocking random act of kindness.

Wendy and I were in San Francisco this month attending an event commemorating the 50th anniversary of the tree-hugging organization I work for. We had a wonderful time in the big city and had checked out of our hotel and were heading to the Powell Street BART station to take the train to the airport. (BART, by the way, stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit. It is undeniably a transit system and is definitely located in the Bay Area, but one can quibble with the “Rapid” part.)

Fortunately, since I am my father’s son, we had left our hotel and headed to BART hours before our midday flight. My dad believed that if you weren’t 20 minutes early to something then you were late. We stopped just above the train level to make sure we had all of our luggage, purses, wallets, cell phones, snacks, reading material, hotel shampoos, and, in my case, a paper boarding pass. Then we descended the stairs and got on a train and were halfway to the airport when I noticed Wendy frantically searching her purse and luggage looking for her cell phone. I could see despair wash over her face when she realized she had left it on the turnstile at the station.

We considered exiting the train and returning to the station but realized that in doing so we’d likely miss our flight. Reluctantly, we figured someone would find Wendy’s phone and turn it into BART’s lost and found, which, I am told, has a sign over its door that says Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here. Then, on a whim, Wendy borrowed my cellphone and called hers. It rang, and much to our surprise and delight, someone answered it. The someone was a guy named Morro, or Morrow or Mauro – in our excitement, we neglected to inquire about the correct spelling of his name. Morro was exiting the same station we had started out from. Wendy explained what happened, told him we were at the airport and asked Morro if he could possibly mail the cell phone to us if we reimbursed him for postage. After a short pause, Morro declined Wendy’s invitation. Instead, he offered to bring the cell phone to the airport.

It seemed too good to be true. But we made arrangements to meet Morro in front of the Alaska ticket counter. We figured he was 40 minutes behind us and, thanks to my dad, we had plenty of time before we needed to get to our gate. Wendy and I grabbed a chair in the terminal and waited for our cell phone Savior. We waited, and waited, then we paced, looking at passing people to see if they looked like someone who might be named Morro.

An hour passed, then another half hour, and still no Morro. Wendy called her phone, but the calls all rolled to voicemail. Morro couldn’t call out on Wendy’s phone, and he did not own a cellphone. Soon it was time for us to make our way to our gate. We left word with the Alaska Information Desk about our cell phone situation, hoping that if Morro arrived he’d leave the lost cell phone at that desk. Reluctantly, we prepared to go home without Wendy’s phone. She tried one last time to call her phone, and this time Morro answered.

He had the phone and was in the BART unloading area but couldn’t leave the BART system because he didn’t have any money to buy a new ticket back to the city. If we went back to the BART unloading area to pick up the phone we risked missing our flight.

Fortunately, we had been joined by my friend and colleague Peter and his wife Janine who were on a later flight to Seattle. Peter offered to go back to the BART tram, pick up the phone and bring it back to our gate. If we had boarded, he’d bring it home, and we’d pick it up the next day.

So Peter raced off to get the phone (and to present Morro with a generous financial reward for his kindness), and Wendy and I headed to our plane. Just before they closed our boarding gate, Peter ran up and handed Wendy her phone.

So next time the news of the world gets you down, or you find yourself losing faith in mankind, just remember that there are people like Morro out there, ready to help out a complete stranger in need at the drop of a hat. Or a cell phone. Thanks Morro, thanks Peter and Janine, and Happy New Year to all!

Tom Tyner of Bainbridge Island writes a monthly humor column for this newspaper.