Fred Bruning column: A seasoned greeter spreads the word

Gallup released a survey recently showing that people who say hello score higher on well-being charts than those who don’t. This is excellent news for the chance of continued survival.

“Hiya,” I say whenever possible.

To the departing Amazon courier, the town garbage crew, the woman with the large, fluffy dog I meet on my walk, and, indeed, to the fluffy dog itself, who playfully, but unexpectedly, clamped my entire forearm in its mouth: Hiya.

To strangers in the park minding their own business, travelers taking a stretch at highway rest stops, tykes in baby carriages, postal patrons about to slip letters into the slot to my right, waiters I recognize from local restaurants but who do not remember me, to one and all: Hiya, how’s it going?

Friends sometimes substitute a more operatic version — HIYA — to make me aware that, there, I’ve said it again.

“Hiya,” I’ll say to my old union buddy, George.

“HIYA,” he’ll say, just getting started. “HIYA, HIYA, HIYA.”

I was in Brooklyn with my son one day, nodding and saying “hiya” to passers-by.

“You should run for office,” said my son. “It’d be a landslide.”

Researchers at Gallup found that people over 65 were most likely to say hello to neighbors. Young adults came in last.

Now, now, let’s not be judgmental. You think it’s easy to wave at the Baxters from up the street while firing off an Instagram post of your latest tattoo? Try it sometime.

Some of this goes back to my mother, Winnie, a most engaging soul. “Hello, dear,” she said to any child she passed, known or unknown.

From our third-floor window in Bay Ridge, she’d be calling me upstairs for dinner and spot somebody on the street.

“Hello, Mrs. Peterson. Nice day.”

“Toodle-oo, Mr. Miller. Going away?”

While out with Mom, I was expected to greet every new acquaintance with enthusiasm, as if I were our minister at the Lutheran church recruiting a prospective congregant.

“Very nice to meet you,” I was taught to say.

Of course, not everyone is in the mood for your congeniality.

There is a bald, brawny fellow I pass on walks who manages just a grunt. Likewise, the woman in Day-Glo sneakers who darts by, eyes averted. One guy would rather look at his spaniel than wave back.

I persist. Pays off, too. You get to know people a little. I’m thinking of Ken, the Vietnam vet.

I’m partial to the men who served because I lucked out — married, kids, never drafted. Ken went, I didn’t.

“Ah, don’t look at it that way,” Ken said. “Really.”

We shook hands.

“Thanks,” I said. “Means a lot.”

If I’m wearing my Mets cap, people tend to nod their heads sadly as though comforting the bereaved.

“Tough year,” said one fellow.

“Six months to spring training,” I replied.

Even though I am confident of an excellent rating on the Gallup wellness tally, there are people in another league.

One is my old newsroom friend, Sidney. Sidney takes goodwill to new heights — the Matterhorn.

If you’re out with Sidney be ready for him to wander off to start a conversation with someone he’s never met. Let’s say he sees a kid in a college sweatshirt. He’ll have to know the year in school, major, career ambitions and, changing the subject, who are you voting for next year, by the way?

“Just reporting,” Sidney will say.

Yes, he’s nosy the way reporters are supposed to be, but it’s more than that. Sidney loves people. He can’t resist the human race.

It was the same way with my mother.

“People are good,” she’d say.

Sometimes it’s a challenge, but I’m hanging on to Mom’s belief.

Everybody deserves consideration and kindness, she advised. Saying hello is a small thing —a little bit of connection.

Oh, and I also am big on holding doors, another of Winnie’s edicts. “Let the lady go first,” she would say.

My wife and I were at a local theater recently and I was following Mom’s orders. Half a dozen people went through the door, and then another.

“Do they pay you?” she asked.

“Just with smiles,” I said.

Reward enough, in my opinion, and, according to Gallup, good for your health.