He was already past 40 years old and required a wheelchair when he got his first job as a movie theater employee, only to discover his arms were so limited in motion he had trouble tearing the paper tickets in two.

Mike Carpenter was not about to fail at moving closer to a normal life, which for him meant living independently and holding down a job.

Co-workers remember Carpenter, who died Wednesday at age 59, taking his work home with him until he could go faster.

"He'd take the tickets home and practice tearing them just so he could do his job," said Chrissie Lancaster, the general manager of Regal Franklin Square Stadium 14.

Many of us walk into work too often with a stone-faced look of dread or even have trouble getting out of bed. Carpenter, for 17 years, climbed over obstacles to greet movie-goers with a soft smile.

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When he first started working at the theater, the city bus would only drop him off at Kmart. His motorized wheelchair would often die, leaving him stranded between the retail store and theater, co-workers said.

"He loved people, and he loved what he did for a living," said movie-goer Flora Foster. "He made the best of what he had. I wish I could say that I got to know him really well, but I just know him as that wonderful, kind and caring man who not only took my tickets, but also put me in a great mood for the entire rest of the day."

Carpenter was born with spina bifida, an incurable disorder where the spine fails to close during the first month of pregnancy, and doctors told his late parents that he would not live past his teen years, said Cindy Bridges, his older sister by two years. He had undergone 22 surgeries throughout his life. He had to have a leg amputated about 10 years ago.

Carpenter had another surgery scheduled for Aug. 30. But he had also already bought tickets for an upcoming Dixie Chicks concert.

He lived with his parents until they passed. He decided he wanted to live on his own about 18 years ago, just before he was hired at the movie theater. He lived alone in an apartment on Third Avenue in Gastonia that caters to those with physical limitations. He recently bought a van on his own so that a friend could drive him to play bingo.

He could have survived on his disability check, but he wanted more out of life, said his sister. He wanted to see people and help people just as others had helped him. He volunteered for Special Olympics, participated in Toys for Tots and feared any talk of him having to one day live in a nursing facility.

His disorder prevented him from going to school, but he received enough training at Gaston Skills as an adult that he could get his movie theater job.

"That was one of his goals in life, to see if he could go out and live his life like a normal person," Bridges said.

But he ended up doing so much more.

"He inspired the world," his sister said.

His job was to take tickets and point movie-goers to the correct theater. In the last few years, his body had deteriorated so that he had trouble not slumping to one side in his wheelchair. When his co-workers noticed his discomfort, they would offer to let him go home. He would always refuse.

Customers came to love him and missed seeing him when he was not working his three-day-a-week job. He loved children, but didn't want them to "help" him tear his tickets. He disliked when people referred to him as a "little man" or mentioned that he was confined to a wheelchair, but he never retaliated with an angry word.

"Seeing him in his wheelchair tearing tickets for movie goers made me pity him at first, but talking and laughing with him made me admire him and thank God for him," said movie-goer Jean Foster. "What a beautiful example he was to all of us."

Customers would learn his birthday and pay special visits with presents. He knew his job was to get customers into their movie seats, but wasn't averse to conversation.

Ashley Barlowe started taking her son, Jacob, to the movies at age 5. The two have seen approximately 90 movies at the theater in the past eight years. Carpenter greeted them with a smile, asked them how they were doing and always told them to enjoy their movie. But Barlowe said Carpenter did so much more.

"This was the first time I got to teach my son not only about how to treat people that have disabilities but to show him that for so many, like Mike, their disabilities didn't have to prohibit them from doing what they loved," she said.

Carpenter last worked at the theater on July 23.

On Friday, Carpenter was admitted to CaroMont Regional Medical Center with an infection. He asked his 22-year-old niece, Cheyanne Westberry, to call the theater and ask that they take him off the schedule for a week.

Lancaster has worked at the theater for 18 years and had seen Carpenter bounce back time after time. Convinced he'd be ready to work again sooner rather than later, she put him down to work his regular Friday shift.

"When he would get sick over the years, even when he had to go to the hospital, knowing he had a job to come back to helped him get better faster," Lancaster said.

But this time, his body just could not fight off the infection.

Most workers in a movie theater are young. For many, the job represents their first. While Carpenter never married and did not have children, he made his young co-workers feel like they were his buddies, said Ashli Holland, who worked with Carpenter for eight years, starting when she was a student at Forestview and all the way through Belmont Abbey College.

Everyone wanted to be Carpenter's "Secret Santa" at Christmas. He loved Mountain Dew and scratch-off lottery tickets. Movie theater workers spend holidays and nights together, so it can feel like family, Holland said.

Now 28 and working at Wells Fargo, Holland said she cried for just a moment when she heard about her friend dying.

But not for long. For the first time, Holland said, Carpenter's body and soul match.

"He's walking the streets of heaven. He's walking the streets of gold," Holland said. "That's something he could never do before. He's now free."

You can reach Kevin Ellis at 704-869-1823 or Twitter.com/TheGazetteKevin.