Cattaraugus, N.Y.

AS winter approached, a retired secretary here named Carol Bonner was putting snow tires on her car when she noticed that her back-right rim was bent. Ms. Bonner took the car to Otto’s Auto Body Shop and got bad news: the work was going to run her $244 — more than half of her $417 monthly pension check.

Without a credit card or enough saved up to replace the rim herself, Ms. Bonner, who is 61 and cares for her sister Jane, who is disabled, did the only thing she could do: she went down to the Bank of Cattaraugus and took out a $300 loan. The bank, in a reversal of the usual process, had bailed her out before. A few years ago, when Ms. Bonner fell behind on her property taxes and was forced to sell her home, the bank’s president, Patrick J. Cullen, who held the mortgage on the house, had his son Thomas buy it. Thomas Cullen, who lives in Chicago, never intended to live there. Ms. Bonner and her sister were able to stay as renters.

“The whole thing was incredible,” Ms. Bonner said the other day, a single pine branch hanging in her living room in lieu of a full Christmas tree, which she could not afford. “I just didn’t realize there were people like that in the world, people who would help you.

“Especially,” she said, “a banker.”

This has not exactly been a time of great love for bankers. Amid the continuing foreclosure crisis and Occupy Wall Street’s campaign against “the 1 percent,” it is easy to forget that not all banks are complicated giants, trading in derivatives and re-hypothecating valueless collateral. The Bank of Cattaraugus, for example, is by asset size the state’s smallest bank (one branch, eight employees, no credit default swaps) and yet it plays an outsize role in this hilly village an hour south of Buffalo: housing its deposits, lending to its neediest inhabitants and recently granting forbearance on a mortgage when the borrower, a bus mechanic, temporarily lost his job after shooting off his finger while holstering his gun.