MARBLEHEAD — On a quiet corner of a parking lot at Briarcliff, a Rhode Island assisted-living community, a brightly-painted, floral minibus sat untouched for nearly a year. Residents walked past it, staff drifted by it, and seasons changed around it.
But on every weekly visit to see his 107-year-old godmother, Dave Aldrich noticed it and imagined something more.
He imagined purpose. He imagined a community. He imagined her.
For more than six decades, Mrs. Elsie Nickerson has been the steady, unshakable force guiding Aldrich’s life. Long before diagnoses like dyslexia or language-based learning disabilities existed in schools, long before neurodiversity was understood, she saw him and believed in him.
“She never judged me,” Aldrich recalled. “Everyone else left me for dead academically. She never did.”
Growing up within a school system that misunderstood him, Aldrich carried in his bones the harsh labels of his childhood: failure, lost cause, left behind. Yet every visit to Mrs. Nickerson’s home offered refuge. Peace. A reminder that kindness, not achievement, defines a person’s worth.
Her loyalty to him became the blueprint for his own.
Volunteering wasn’t something Mrs. Nickerson talked about; it was the way she lived. She and Aldrich’s family spent decades organizing church dinners, Girl Scout events, PTA gatherings, and Little League activities in Providence. They gave time because time was what they had.
Then came the funerals: first Aldrich’s mother, then Mr. Nickerson, then Aldrich’s father. Loss reshaped the congregation he’d grown up in. But amid grief, Mrs. Nickerson found clarity.
Nearly 50 years ago, after Aldrich’s mother died suddenly at age 66, Mrs. Nickerson looked at the church’s underused basement kitchen and decided to transform it into a soup kitchen. It quickly grew into one of Rhode Island’s most impactful food pantries, today serving 175-225 families every week.
She volunteered every Saturday until her 100th birthday. And even now, from her assisted-living home, she still calls weekly for the latest report: total families served and thrift-store sales.
“She keeps her moral and ethical compass fixed on true north,” Aldrich said. “She always has.”
Because of her and other positive influences, Aldrich built a life of service.
He volunteered for land-preservation organizations from The Nature Conservancy to The Trustees. He launched Westchester County’s first commercial composting and recycling program. He shipped refurbished computers to Guatemala. He founded Grab The Torch to teach young people about leadership, ethics, purpose, and, above all, philanthropy.
“She was so proud that I continued the vision she lived every day,” he said.
Then the pandemic hit. Summer leadership programs collapsed overnight. Aldrich lost his retirement savings, his business model, his financial stability.
But not his purpose.
So he reinvented. Grab The Bagel, a community-driven enterprise grounded in random acts of generosity and the belief that food can bring people together, was born.
He dedicated it to her.
Every Saturday, he wasn’t selling bagels; he volunteered at her church’s food pantry. After, he’d stop at Briarcliff with a full report on families served.
“Nothing made her happier,” he said.
On those weekly visits, Aldrich kept noticing that the unused bus was sitting in the lot. One day, he simply asked Briarcliff’s owners if they’d consider donating it to GTB.
They said yes.
What followed, however, was not simple. The bus required thousands in repairs, new brakes, rotors, calipers, brake lines, and the once-cheerful floral wrap had hardened to the body after 15 years of weather exposure.
Removing it required hours of heating, scraping, peeling, and patience.
But this wasn’t just a bus; it was her bus. And quitting wasn’t an option.
When Aldrich’s friend Gennaro Angiulo learned what the bus represented, he and the Angiulo family stepped forward, donating nearly $5,000 for mechanical work, towing, and expertise.
“GTB is incredibly grateful to the Angiulo family for their unwavering commitment to supporting the renovation and transformation of the Elsie Express. Gennaro, his wife, and sister are wonderful people,” Aldrich said.
As Aldrich and his employee painstakingly removed the old wrap, the bus’ original paint emerged: untouched, gleaming, almost new. Aldrich began designing new graphics, imagining the moment she’d see her name on the driver’s door.
“When you’re nearing 108, there aren’t many new things that thrill you,” Aldrich said. “But this will.”
Everyone who touched the project — mechanics, volunteers, bagel fans, and even children — felt ownership and pride.
“This is more than a bus,” Aldrich said. “This is honoring her life and carrying her work forward.”
GTB’s momentum continues to ripple outward. Two localities, Marblehead and Swampscott, now have their own signature bagel identities: Marblehead Flats and Swampscott Spreads, a rotating lineup of special cream-cheese flavors including Ginger Maple, Smoked Sockeye & Atlantic Salmon, Honey Pecan Crunch, Veggie, along with others. The Marblehead Flats include superseed, cranberry orange, and more.
Two towns, once rivals, are now united through flavor and service.
Grab The Bagel, Random Acts of Bagelness, and Grab The Torch have become a non-profit CommUnity model that other towns envy.
Meanwhile, stories of connection continue to bloom, like 8-year-old Clara, the young fan who drove with her family to personally deliver a sympathy card after GTB lost its entire inventory during a refrigeration failure.
When Aldrich invited her to ride in the newly restored bus during the Marblehead Christmas Parade, “You would’ve thought I invited her to Maui,” he laughed.
This past weekend, The Elsie Express rolled through the Marblehead Christmas Parade: its debut as GTB’s mobile store, community hub, and traveling symbol of one woman’s extraordinary impact.
Mrs. Nickerson’s legacy now lives on in steel and paint, in bagels and generosity, in scholarships and food kitchens, and in every person touched by her spirit.
Her story proves that one woman, one steady, quiet, unwavering woman, can shape generations.
“Our work will continue long after she’s gone,” Aldrich said. “But her impact on me, and the hundreds of thousands she helped, will live forever.”
As always, she’ll want to know just one thing: “How are bagel sales?”
