CHRISTMAS 1950

When I was twelve, on Saturdays, I went up to the Acme Market with my wagon, stood outside, and asked the shoppers if I could haul their groceries home for them. One Saturday in early December 1950 it was bitter cold. The wind was blowing and it started to snow. Usually we received a dime for each load of groceries. That Saturday I got something else. I came down with a fever and a sore throat.

After several days I was no better and I had sharp pains in my joints. My father called a doctor, making it clear to him that he had no money to pay him. Doctor Levin drove to the housing project where we lived and examined me. He gave my mother sulpha pills for my sore throat and fever. He came back every several days. After a week or so, he told my parents that I had rheumatic fever and that I would have to go to a hospital. He arranged for me to go to Sinai Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.

Sinai Hospital was across the street from Johns Hopkin’s Hospital and was a research and teaching hospital like Hopkins. Most of its doctors and nurses were Jewish. I was in the children’s ward, a charity ward. Children whose parents could pay were in semi-private rooms.

At twelve years of age I was older than most, if not all, of the two dozen children in the ward. I was in the hospital a couple weeks. When the doctor came around each morning, he was accompanied by a nurse carrying my chart and over a dozen interns. He would explain how my case of rheumatic fever was unique, would show them my joints and the tape from the electrocardiograph machine which showed the anomalies in my heart.

As it drew near to Christmas, the little ones kept asking the nurses, “Will Santa Claus know where I am? Will he leave my present at home?” When no nurses were around we would talk quietly. The kids would ask why there were no Christmas tree or Christmas decorations. With all the sophistication of my twelve years I would say, “You dummies. This is a Jewish hospital. Jews don’t believe in Jesus or celebrate Christmas.”

The day before Christmas all of the children in the ward were taken into a large room. In it were a huge Christmas tree, tables with Christmas decorations, and chairs. First, we had a special Christmas dinner. Then one of the Jewish nurses led us in singing Christmas songs and carols. One of the Jewish doctors played lively piano accompaniment while also singing. Finally, Santa himself came in, dragging a bag too large to carry. Each of us received three or four toys or games or dolls. There were no inexpensive gifts. They were the best dolls, best toys, and best games.

God bless those Jewish doctors and nurses who gave two dozen poor Gentile children the best Christmas they ever had! For a few it was the last Christmas they had.

BUCKWHEAT FLOUR

When we lived in West Virginia, in November the stores would have shelves filled with buckwheat flour. By the end of the month it was gone.  Buckwheat flour was packaged in a heavy, white paper sack tied at the top with a piece of twine string. The bag would have BUCKWHEAT FLOUR, and a simple design like a barn or a tractor. On the bottom would be printed the weight, the mill where it was ground, and the town in West Virginia where the mill was located. On the back of the bag, imprinted with a rubber stamp, there would be a recipe for buckwheat pancakes, or sometimes the recipe was on a slip of paper inside the bag.

To make the batter for buckwheat pancakes, mix buckwheat flour, baking soda, and buttermilk or you can use sweet milk and yeast. Let the batter sit out all night. The next day, add eggs, molasses, and more milk to thin the batter.

Buckwheat pancakes are an acquired taste. My wife and sons never acquired the taste. The pancakes are heavy enough so that a stack of them would hold down a barn roof in a hurricane. A bellyful will keep your feet on the ground in the worst snow squall. They are grey in color like papier mache made from newspapers. I would love to have a stack of them right now.

When I left West Virginia I had to give up a number of foods that are reserved for mountaineers – ramps, salt rising bread, scrapple, leather britches beans cooked with a hunk of salt pork, apples from the sauerkraut barrel, and buckwheat pancakes.

HEINRICH AND HALLOWE'EN

HEINRICH AND HALLOWE’EN

By Troy Lynn Pritt

Over the years, Heinrich the cat learned to hate Hallowe’en. When he was a young and foolish kitten, he ran around excitedly following first one group of trick-or-treaters and then another. He playfully chased the discarded candy wrappers blowing around in the yard. He learned that being a black cat had certain advantages on Hallowe’en night. He could hide behind a tree and jump out at a group of children, arching his back and hissing. The children would squeal, scream, and run away.

He discovered Hallowe’en wasn’t all fun. There was one Hallowe’en when some older boys decided to get back at him for scaring them when they were younger. Several of them came after him with Hallowe’en  masks covering their faces. There was a full moon which meant he couldn’t use darkness to evade them. They put him in a sack with several caramel apples. The more he fought to get out, the more the sticky caramel tangled and matted his fur.

As he grew older, Heinrich spent much less time in playing and more time in napping. Hallowe’en became a noisy interruption to his nocturnal slumbering. There was no place in the house to get away from the repeated sounds of the doorbell ringing, and childish voices squealing “Trick or treat”.

Last year, when he gave up on trying to doze, he decided to have one more fling at scaring the pesky demons. He slipped outside through a group at the door receiving its candy dole. Heinrich found a place to hide until the next gaggle of gigglers arrived. When they were huddled around the door, punching the door bell, he knocked over the broom. The sound was like the report of a gun. When the kids jumped away in fright, he arched his back and hissed like a Bengali tiger. The little monsters ran away in panic.

AT WHOSE EXPENSE?

The current debate and wrangling over the Affordable Health Care Act, the Federal Budget, and the Federal Borrowing Limit has bandied about accusations of Big Brother, taking away personal liberties, destroying business, and a lot of other emotional issues. Please consider with me some basic issues that are not being brought out to the light of day but are at the root of the emotion and energy generated by these issues.

The new health care law is going to raise the cost of health insurance for many people and many businesses. People are now given the chance to purchase health insurance who could not purchase it before because they have preexisting health problems. By excluding them, health insurance premiums were kept lower for the people who had health insurance. Up to now health insurance has been affordable for the majority of people because it was unavailable to those who were high risks. For this and a number of other reasons 41,000,000 Americans did not have health insurance. Before the advent of “Obamacare” health insurance, though expensive, was kept artificially low at the expense of those who need health insurance the most.

The same spirit of “keep the price low for me, I don’t care how” has led to the flight of jobs from the U.S.A. to countries where labor costs are much lower. It has also led to the madness of deficit financing of the Federal budget in the last decades. If an individual consistently spent more than he/she earned and used a credit card to increase their spending; and if this same individual paid only the minimum on their credit card account each month, we would that person is a fool. That is exactly what the Federal government has been doing for years. The voters demand that taxes be lowered and their Congressmen accede to their demands. Now we have a two pronged fiscal crisis involving the Federal budget and the Federal borrowing limit.

Where are the leaders who have the courage to say, “You are going to have to pay higher health insurance premiums so that everyone will have access to health care.” and “You are going to have to pay higher taxes, much higher taxes, so that we can have a truly balanced budget and so that we can begin to make significant reductions in the Federal debt.”?

HONOR OBAMA

It is very distressing to me to see on social media the personal attacks on the President, the Vice-President, Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton, and John Kerry. I see these attacks being made by the same people who post “Let’s see how many likes we can get for Jesus” and similar messages. Most of these people then are Christians.

It is one thing to discuss and argue the merits of an issue which has not been passed by the Congress and signed by the President. It is quite another thing to continue to attack what has become the law of the land. People who declare that they will not obey a law they do not like are “lawless”. Personal attacks upon the President and other government leaders are attacks on God. Refusal to obey laws that are not contrary to Scripture are rebellion against God.

Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority resists the ordinance of God, and those who resist will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to evil. Do you want to be unafraid of the authority? Do what is good, and you will have praise from the same. For he is God's minister to you for good. But if you do evil, be afraid; for he does not bear the sword in vain; for he is God's minister, an avenger to execute wrath on him who practices evil. Therefore you must be subject, not only because of wrath but also for conscience' sake. For because of this you also pay taxes, for they are God's ministers attending continually to this very thing. Render therefore to all their due: taxes to whom taxes are due, customs to whom customs, fear to whom fear, honor to whom honor. (Romans 13:1-7 NKJV)

Who elected Obama, Biden, Pelosi, et all? It was God who chose them an eternity ago. Why was the healthcare bill passed? It was God’s will for it to pass. Anyone who resorts to personal attacks on the President or other government leader has forgotten or does not believe that God is in control. “He has ordained whatsoever comes to pass.”

STONEHENGE REDUX

In England there is a mammoth circle of massive stones.  It took an incredible amount of effort to bring those stones to that location and place them upright in a precise correlation to one another. No one knows their meaning or purpose (though there are numerous conjectures) and they are no longer used.

In my lifetime I have seen a number of abandoned churches, seminaries, Christian colleges, and other Christian endeavors discontinue their labors and leave abandoned buildings behind them. In Baltimore a Presbyterian Church that had a tremendous ministry for many years was faced with the need for major repairs. The congregation decided to dissolve the church. There is now a McDonald’s on that busy and strategic street corner. In my second pastorate, there had once been a chapel out in the country that served a number of families. A new preacher at the church in town didn’t want to preach twice, so the chapel closed. It is now a hay barn. A church that I was serving closed. It is now a community center.

These are just a few examples. All over this country and all over Europe there are empty church buildings in various states of disrepair. In one sense they are memorial signs marking once vibrant testimonies to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In another sense they are tombstones marking the decline of vital Christianity.

Why is Christianity weakening in its influence and failing to attract the enthusiasm of the current and next generation of young adults and youth? Politics, the struggle for material success, television, social media, and smart phones are the modern day Baals, Ashtoreths, and even Molechs. Just as the ancient Israelites deceived themselves into thinking that they could worship the LORD and Baal, modern Americans think they can love God and mammon. Our faint attempts to keep an allegiance to Christianity that costs little of our time, interferes little with our behavior, and demands no commitment to daily Bible study and prayer will only bring down the wrath of God for our ingratitude.  

CRISES AND CALAMITIES

Our nation has suffered a torrent of crises that have left us drained and confused. We have had thousands of servicemen either returned in body bags or litters or as walking wounded. Terrorists have struck by seizing airliners and crashing into the World Trade Center twin towers and into the Pentagon, by bombs, by gunfire, by poison in letters. The worst damages have come from tropical storms, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, droughts, and floods. A severe financial crisis has left millions homeless, or jobless, and without hope of regaining a comfortable life.

Our response has been to deal with the symptoms of each crisis. Volunteers have gone to storm wrecked communities and helped in meeting the immediate needs of those who survived, cleaning up the debris, helping to rebuild. Law enforcement officials have focused on ways to thwart terrorist plots. Government has created programs to help the wounded warriors and other programs to stimulate the economy.

No one has been heard in the media or otherwise addressing the nation to proclaim an overarching reason behind these multiplying crises. Jesus said, “But when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be troubled; for such things must happen, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. And there will be earthquakes in various places, and there will be famines and troubles. These are the beginnings of sorrows.”        (Mark 13:7-8 NKJV)

Thousands of years ago in a similar time of crises, the LORD said, “So I sought for a man among them who would make a wall, and stand in the gap before Me on behalf of the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found no one.”   (Ezekiel 22:30 NKJV) We need a man of God who will stand up and declare that only God is powerful enough, only the sovereign God is able to bring these powerful forces upon us. We do not need a man who will say that God is sending these troubles upon us because He is angry about abortion rights, or gay marriages, or Obamacare. We need a man who will tell us to turn our eyes and hearts to God and beg for mercy and let God tell us why He is angry with us.

“O LORD, you have our attention now. Speak to our hearts. Show each of us what we should do, what sins we should forsake. We do not ask what other people ought to be doing or what other nations should be doing. Only You are great enough to have brought these calamities upon us. Only You are great enough to lead us to their solutions. Hear our prayer. Have mercy upon us.  Amen.”

OLD TIME REMEDIES

I have been sick this week. In fact I had to cancel church today because I was too sick to preach. I had a bad head cold and then, as it went to my chest, I started having bad coughing spells. All of the cold medicines and cough syrups had this warning, "Do not use if you have high blood pressure, diabetes, or heart trouble." I have all three.
I began thinking of the old time home remedies my mother used. Having come from a German background, she believed there was a food to treat every illness.
My mother made cough syrup by scraping an onion across a grater until it had been reduced to pulp and a cloudy liquid. She added a spoonful of brown sugar and it was cough syrup. She would give us an oversize spoonful of that concoction. It would transform a tender child into a dragon. Fire would leap out of his nose and even, at times, his ears.
The child who was unfortunate enough to get worms from something he had eaten (like candy from a store), was fed a steady diet of sauerkraut juice every meal until the worms were gone.
Children were not allowed to have coffee or tea in our home. Therefore, we thought that we were partaking of forbidden libation when our mother served us "Cambridge tea" when we were sick. It wasn't until I was grown that I was told that this was made from hot water, canned milk, and sugar.
The comfort food on days you were ill was a piece of black and hard toast placed in a shallow bowl and covered with hot milk. The blackened toast turned the hot milk the color of gravy. If you were a boy, it was sprinkled with salt. If you were a girl, it was sprinkled with sugar.
My mother wasn't a Jewish mother so she hadn't heard of the curative powers of chicken noodle soup. I wish she had!

"ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD"

And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. (Romans 8:28 NKJV)

    This Bible verse has been misunderstood and misapplied by many sincere believers. When things have not worked out good for them, they have wondered if they were to blame for not loving God enough, or it has become their first step in doubting the Bible altogether. Sometimes things do work out for our good, and that seems to vindicate the first part of this verse. We have to acknowledge that this verse has three important caveats.
     The first one is that only God knows fully and perfectly what is good. A person may want a certain job, a certain man or woman as spouse, a house, a car, recognition. These are things that are good in our eyes. God sees all things clearly; He knows the future; He can see into the heart as we cannot. He may see that what we want would be good for us and move everything in place so we can get it. He may see that what we want will not be good for us, and He will block the way.
    The second warning is that what we want may take away some of our love for God. If it can make us happy, satisfied, secure without daily depending upon God, it is understandable that God will not let us have anything that will jeopardize our love for Him.
     Third, in the purposes of God, you may not be the one God has called to fill that job, to have that person as spouse, to own that car or house, or to be given recognition. He may have chosen someone else for those things. If He has, they would not ultimately be your good things. If God has chosen someone else for those good things, He has something else for your good.
      What God has for your good may not appear to be good in human vision. God’s good for you may be poverty, pain, and constant disappointments. If you will serve God, as a living sacrifice, thanking Him always for what He has chosen for you, you will be earning what is the best – “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into your reward.”   

CHILDREN WILL PLAY

My grandfather, Wye Plummer Pritt, was born in 1884. He grew up in a two-story log house that his father, John Hadden Pritt, built with the help of neighbors. For two years his father had been preparing logs. One day he and his wife, Mary Elizabeth Shiflett Pritt and their first three children, Lottie Lee, Elam Carper, and Guy McClung, arrived at the site. All their possessions plus the children were in a horse drawn wagon. Some chickens were in a crate, and a cow followed placidly behind the wagon. In one day my great-grandfather and his neighbors built a two-story log house. That night my great-grandfather, his wife, and the three children slept in their new home.

The second story was an unfinished attic with a partition in the center. The girls slept on one side and the boys slept on the other side. A hole in the floor on each side and two ladders provided both access and heat to the attic. In the winter, snow would come through chinks in the logs. Fifty years later, my grandfather remembered how the snow would tickle his nose when he was in bed.

Washing clothes was done in big kettles hanging over a wood fire. The agitator for their “washing machine” was the handle of a hoe, rake, or shovel. It was also used to transfer clothes from the pot of boiling soapy water to the pot of rinse water. The clothes were wrung out by hand.  

Altogether there were eight children. My grandfather was sixth. When he was born, his two older brothers, Carper and Guy, were twelve and ten years old. When he was seven years old, the youngest brother, Willard Jesse, was born. The four sisters were Lottie Lee, Amy Pearl, Tippie Jane, and Mabel Hannah. There was always a lot of work to be done. The children worked most of the day. There were sewing, washing, cooking, working in the farm fields, tending to the animals, and splitting firewood to be done.

Children will play. In their play they try to copy what they see adults doing. The girls made dolls from a variety of materials. There were corn husk dolls, hollyhock dancing girls, and dolls sewn from scraps of flour sacks which had been used to make skirts and blouses. They made necklaces, coronets, and bracelets from wildflowers.

The boys mowed the lawn using a scythe. This left piles of cut grass on the ground. The boys would pretend that they were a horse-drawn hay rake. Using their fingers spread like a rake, they went across the lawn in rows. They pushed sticks into the ground and made boy-sized hay stacks. Once, the oldest brother, Carper, hid soft cow pies under piles of grass. When the other brothers raked the grass, they got a handful of cow excrement. They remembered that, told that story, and laughed about it every time they came together visiting with their families or attending family reunions.

One day a crew of men stopped at the creek that ran near to the house. The men had a bar of soap (a valuable item at that time). They took off their shoes, socks, and shirts, and unbuttoned their long underwear so that they were bare to the waist. Then they all washed in the creek. When they washed their faces, they snorted loudly like horses. Washing in the creek became the favorite game of the brothers. My grandfather found a very smooth rock, shaped like a bar of soap. They never tired of their game of washing up.

Each time, when they were finished with that game, they carefully hid the rock. After they were grown men, every time they visited the “home place” they would look for that special rock, hold it like a relic, then carefully put it back in its secret hiding place. When they were all grown, had families of their own, their parents had died, and the place had passed into new owners, the special rock could not be found. It was like a death in the family. Whenever two or more of the brothers were together, one sure topic of conversation was, “Wonder what happened to our rock?”

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

Early this year I bought a new car. After I bought it, I began to worry about the payments. I can make the payments with my pensions, but if I die, my wife will have to survive on her Social Security and one-half of just one of my pensions. I determined to pay off the car as soon as possible. A couple months after I bought the car, I sold my shares in a mutual fund that never had shown much growth. That was $1000 and I applied it to the car loan.
A month later, I received my State and Federal income tax refunds. I closed a bank account. Altogether, these amounted to $5000. I sent a check to the bank's auto loan department along with the stub they had provided for principal only payments. The stub had the account number for my auto loan, and I wrote the account number on my check. On April 9 the check was deducted on my checking account online. I waited and waited for it to show up on my auto loan account online.
When the $5000 had not appeared in my loan account by April 18, I called the bank's customer service. They told me (what I already knew) that my account did not show a payment of $5000. The woman told me politely that they could not take my word for it, that I would have to send them proof. She gave me a P O Box and a mail code for where to send the bank's documentation. I mailed the bank's document which showed both sides of the check and gave some routing information.
I have subsequently called the bank twice and sent them an email. The sum of what they tell me is that they are researching the matter. They told me to call back tomorrow if I want to speak to a manager because none of them were available today. 
When my grandfather was a young man, everyone he knew buried their money someplace on their property, because they didn't trust the banks. Wonder why?

RAIN by Troy Lynn Pritt

Police Sergeant Paul Carbon went outside for the paper.

“It looks like rain.”

Rain clouds were stalled over the roof of his life these past months. Several months ago his wife of twenty-eight years had died. Since then, the washer and dishwasher both had quit working. The roof was leaking. He was learning to cook, but half the meals he fixed weren’t fit for dog food. He depended on the dry cleaners to wash or clean and press his uniforms. That didn’t leave much money to eat in restaurants. He poured dry cereal into a bowl, then discovered that there wasn’t any milk in the refrigerator.

Just then the phone rang. It was Marge, the dispatcher.

“Paul, I know that you aren’t scheduled to come on duty for more than half an hour, but we have the report of an auto collision at the intersection of Maplewood and Trace. The other squad cars are either out on call or not answering. Would you cover it? I’ve already called the ambulance and it is on its way.”

Maplewood and Trace was just six blocks away. He left the bowl of cereal untouched, put on his duty belt with pistol and baton, and grabbed his uniform coat. As he stepped outside, the rain was beginning..

“Great! This old police cruiser leaks water through the side window and somehow it comes in onto my leg and foot.”

When he arrived at the accident scene, he saw that it was bad. One car had the hit the other car broadside and had “T-boned” it. The paramedic came up to him.

“The driver in that car is dead. I was waiting for you, in case you need to take pictures. Then we’ll use cutting tools to pry the door open so we can remove the body. The other driver is over there in that store entrance to get out of the rain.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

SGT Carbon went to the patrol car for the camera and tape measure. After taking a half dozen photos from different perspectives, he measured the distance from the stop sign to the point of impact. Then, he walked over to where the other driver was standing.

“Now that you are finally here, I’ll give you my name, address, and telephone number. Then I need to find a telephone and call my wife. She can pick me up and take me home.”

After taking the driver’s name, address, and phone number, SGT Carbon said,

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was just driving to work. I stopped at that stop sign, looked both ways, and started off. That green car just came out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop!”

“There are no marks indicating you tried to stop. Your car could not have reached the speed needed to cause that much damage to the other car if you had stopped.”

“I tell you I STOPPED!”

“A judge will decide that. Let’s take a walk through the rain to my patrol car. I’m placing you under arrest for vehicular manslaughter.”                                                                           

    

 

THE WIND by Troy Lynn Pritt

     The wind whooshed into the room as Harold Staynt opened the front door. He was dressed in brown trousers, pale yellow dress shirt with a dark green Tartan plaid tie, and a rust brown sport jacket. The effect he wanted, they wanted, was friendly, relaxed not business like or professional. Across the room, at the bottom of the stairs was his wife Mariah, clad in a worn, pink chenille robe. The wind parted it, revealing a sexy baby-doll outfit underneath.

“Mariah, how can I leave the house and face a day’s worth of doing Ammer Insurance Company’s dirty work with such an inviting reminder of what I’m leaving behind me?”

“I’ll be here waiting, when you come home. Count on it!”

He smiled and almost skipped to his vehicle. The wind gusted as he was opening the car door. He backed out of the driveway. As he was driving, he ran over in his mind three visits scheduled for this morning.

Mrs. Hermannson was first. Her husband’s funeral was last week. He had a life insurance policy with the Company for $500,000.

“Harold, we don’t want to have to pay out that much money in one lump sum. Do whatever it takes to persuade her to put the proceeds of his policy into one of our annuity plans. There will be a nice commission in it for you.”

If Mrs. Hermannson had other plans for the money, Harold would report that. The Company would then send a “specialist” to try to convince her.

His next visit would be to Mr. Elkins, who had been a passenger in a car insured by them. There was an accident and the driver was killed. Mr. Elkins was badly injured. The Company had paid his medical expenses. They wanted Harold to offer the injured man $50,000.

“If he wants more than that, or if he talks about getting a lawyer, make him think that anything more would have to come out of the widow’s estate.”

The rear passenger window would not close all the way. The wind was roaring in and swirling around to the back of his neck. He thought of his last call this morning.

Sister Angelica was a sweet, elderly nun. She had been hit by a driver they insured while she was crossing the street. The driver was drunk. The nun’s right arm, left knee, left ankle, and her collarbone had been broken. She would be a long time recovering, and probably would never be able to work again.

“Offer her $25,000 – no more. What does a nun need with money? Besides, she won’t sue. It isn’t Christian!”

 

      From the corner of his eye, Mr. Staynt saw a car barreling through the stop sign on the intersecting street. The car was going to hit him! There was a crash, breaking glass, crumpling metal. A scream started in his lungs but never reached his dying lips.

HE SLAMMED THE DOOR - (flash fiction)

(This is what is called flash fiction - less than 500 words)

HE SLAMMED THE DOOR

by  Troy Lynn Pritt

Stuart woke up and looked at the clock. It was 7:15 am! He had to be at work by 8:00 am. On the way to the bathroom, he yelled down the stairs,

 “Sue, why didn’t you come upstairs and wake me? My alarm didn’t go off. Now I am going to be late for work.”

“I have been busy getting the children ready for school. Their school bus will be here in about ten minutes.”

Stuart didn’t hear much of what she said because, as he went into the bathroom, he slammed the door. He came back out several minutes later grumbling about what a mess the children left in the bathroom. When he went back into the bedroom, he slammed the door.

He had troubling buttoning his shirt. The tie was frayed and he had to find another one. One of the socks had a hole in it; he had to go back to the dresser for another pair. Finally, he was dressed. To emphasize his frustration with all the obstacles he had getting dressed for work, he slammed the door as he left the bedroom.

Sue was at the outside door waving goodbye and blowing kisses to their two small children as they boarded the school bus.

“Where is my breakfast? Didn’t I tell you that I was going to be late for work? What would we do if I lost my job?”

“I didn’t think you would have time to eat breakfast. Anyhow, I was busy getting the children ready for school. I thought that you could take a granola bar and a cereal bar with you and eat them in the car on the way to work. I’ve already poured a cup of coffee for you into a foam cup.”

Stuart took the cup and two breakfast bars from her without a thank you. He put them all into one hand so that he could slam the outside door as his parting gesture.

When he got into the car, he slammed the car door. In his car and driving, he was eating the granola bar, drinking coffee, cursing every animate object along the way. He was going much too fast on the main street through their subdivision. Ahead there was a STOP sign. Yet another nuisance! There were never any cars on that cross street.

He slowed down, looked both ways hurriedly, and sped into the intersection. Half way through he saw a green car that had come out of nowhere. He slammed the door of that car with his car’s front end. The impact threw him against the steering wheel and triggered the air bag.

When he extricated himself from the air bag, he walked around to the other car. He could tell at a glance that the other driver was dead. There was blood everywhere. He called the police and ambulance from his cell phone. Then he walked back to his own car and slammed the door.  

CHANGE OF LIFE - Chapter 25

This is the last chapter I wrote. Do you think this is a satisfactory ending? Do you think there should be some more chapters? If so, what should they show? Would it be better to have another book as a sequel?

 

I stepped down onto the train platform, and in the half light of pre-dawn I looked for Willard. The platform was crowded at first. I stood there until the crowd had thinned. Still I did not see him. Maybe something had delayed him. I’ll wait in the station for him. I need to go in there to claim my box from checked baggage.

With my suitcase and box I sat down in the station, which now contained only a handful of people, most of them railroad workers. A Little Rock policewoman came through the door.

“Is Mrs. Dolores O’Reilly here?”

A cold chill ran through me.

“Yes, I am Dolores O’Reilly.”

“Ma’am I have been asked to inform you that your husband was shot yesterday in the line of duty. He was taken by helicopter to the UAMS Trauma Center. I don’t know any more than that. I have been instructed to take you to the Trauma Center where you can inquire about his condition. Then I will take you to a hotel. They only have visiting hours for brief periods of time during the day, so you should have some place to sleep and clean up in between times.”

Patrolwoman Hilda Parsons, an African-American, short and plump, rough around the edges, held me while I sobbed. Then she helped me out to the squad car, carrying my suitcase and box. When we arrived at the Trauma Center, Patrolman Parsons’ uniform and badge gained us admittance into the Emergency Room. She went up to a clerk sitting behind a counter.

“This woman just arrived on the train. Her husband was supposed to meet her. But he is a policeman and he was shot yesterday and was brought to the Trauma Center yesterday afternoon. Would you get on that computer and your phone and find out for her what his present condition is and when she will be able to see him. Her husband’s name is O’Reilly, Willard.”

The uniform and badge gained permissions that would have been refused if I had come here by myself at 4 AM.

After searching in the computer and then making a phone call, the clerk told them,

“Mr. O’Reilly was operated on this evening. His condition is guarded but stable. He is in Surgical Intensive Care Unit. The first visiting period will be 11:00 – 11:30 AM. Tomorrow go to the main entrance. The Information counter will tell you how to get to Surgical Intensive Care Waiting Room. When you get to the waiting room, sign in so they know you are there. When it is 11:00 AM, a nurse will come into the waiting room. She will tell you if you can visit him or not. If he is not able to have visitors, she will give you a report on his condition. If you can’t visit one time, then be there at the next visiting time. By then he may be able to have visitors.”

Patrolwoman Parsons said,

“Thank you, ma’am for your help. Mrs. O’Reilly we have done all that we can do here tonight. Let’s find you a hotel nearby so you can cry and gather your wits.”

“Thank you. You’ve been so kind and helpful, Officer Parsons”

“Don’t you dare tell that to anyone else. I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”

I checked into the hotel with my credit card that said Dolores O’Reilly. I was glad that the clerk didn’t ask for another identification. Everything else I had, Social Security card, Illinois driver’s license, and the other credit card all said “Dolores Kosciuszko.”

I went into my room, unpacked the suitcase, took a shower, and went to bed. I was not expecting to fall asleep, but I did. I dreamed that Willard met me at the train station, and we went to a nice hotel. I wore my sexy nightgown for him and we made passionate love. The next day we walked around Little Rock, rode on the trolley, ate in restaurants, and talked non- stop to each other about the five weeks we had been apart.

We talked about the rift that had come in our marriage by being childless, and how we had drifted apart over the years, living in the same house, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed, but emotionally we were miles apart. The love we once had for each other had wasted away.

The next day I slept late and went down just ten minutes before breakfast was over. I ate a good breakfast because I didn’t know how long it would be before I had a chance to eat again.

When I was finished breakfast, I went to my room, freshened up, and went downstairs. I asked the clerk if there was a bus that went from the hotel to the UAMS. The clerk offered that their shuttle was about to leave and he could drop me off on the way to the airport. I extended my room reservation through the end of the week.

When I went in at the main entrance of UAMS, I found the Information desk. They gave me directions to the Surgical Intensive Care waiting room. There was a small desk inside the door to sign in. It asked for name, cell phone number, relationship, time in and time out. Inside the room there were leather chairs and couches, old magazines, and coffee. There were several dozen people of all ages and stations in life slumped, lying down, sitting cross legged, or just sitting. Some were talking, a few children were laughing, some were weeping, many had a blank stare.

There was another door diagonal to the entrance with a phone on the wall. That door opened to a corridor which led to the units within SICU. At 11:00 AM sharp a nurse with a clipboard came through that door. All talking in the room ceased, people sat at attention. The nurse would read a last name. A group of people belonging to that name would gather around. If they were going to be allowed to visit, the nurse allowed two of them to go through the door. If they weren’t going to be able to visit, the nurse gave them the latest information on the patient’s condition.

As I was waiting to hear “O’Reilly”, a hand gripped my shoulder. I turned and saw Captain Castor, Chief of Police in Prattsville, dressed in full uniform (to open any doors that might otherwise be closed). He waited with me to hear my husband’s name.

“O’Reilly.”

Dolores and the Chief stepped forward.

“Mrs. O’Reilly, I’m sorry that you can’t see your husband now. But come back at 3:00 PM and, unless he has a setback, you should be able to see him then. Your husband is a very lucky man, if you can be shot and be lucky. The bullet narrowly missed his spinal cord. How it missed his liver and his gall bladder, only the Lord knows. It was a clean through shot. His body had one huge shock when he was shot. Then when we operated the body had another shock. We have him sedated now. As I said, unless he has a setback, I feel sure you will be able to see him at three o’clock.”

I thanked her and sat down. Captain Castor sat down beside me.

“Your husband is a hero, Mrs. O’Reilly. There were two smugglers who were heavily armed. Some foolish men in our County thought that they could hijack the smugglers’ truck and steal their narcotics and money. There was a bloody shootout in which three local men were killed and two were seriously wounded.

Three police cars were sent to the scene. Since it was out in the country, the police cars approached alone from three directions. Your husband arrived first. He left his partner at the car and sneaked up on the smugglers. He shot the first one and was lining up to shoot the second one. As he took aim, the first man rolled over and shot your husband. The second man saw his opportunity and was about to shoot your husband when his partner shot him and saved your husband.

“Mrs. O’Reilly, I know that you may be up here several days, maybe a week. The other policemen and policewomen of our department took a collection to help with your expenses. What hotel are you staying in?”

“The Hilton on University.”

“Let me go there with you. I’ll take you in my car. The town has agreed to pay your hotel expenses.”

“Please thank all the members of your force and the town for their generosity.”

The Chief took me back to the hotel, talked to the manager on duty and had the charges taken off my credit card and billed to the Town of Prattsville.

I was back in the SICU waiting room at 3:00 PM. When the nurse called “O’Reilly” she smiled at me and said,

“You can visit with your husband now. Please limit your visit to ten minutes this time. As his condition improves you will be able to stay longer.”

I walked back through the corridor. Each room had large windows facing the corridor. Some windows had the curtains drawn. Willard’s curtains were open so that I saw him before I entered his room. As I came in, all the tubes that he had coming out of his body were frightening to me.

“Willard, this is Dolores.”

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Don’t try to talk. Use your strength to get well. I want you to know how much I love you. I’m staying in a hotel here in Little Rock. I’ll stay here as long as you are in the hospital. I’ll come to visit you every day for as many times as they will let me. When you are stronger and can talk, then we can do all the talking that we planned to do in Little Rock.

“I can’t stay very long this time but I’ll be able to stay longer as time goes on.”

I bent over to kiss him. It was hard to manage a kiss with all the tubes, but I did.

The nurse told me that I could come back at 7:00 PM.

I realized that I had not eaten lunch and it was almost 3:30PM. On my way back to the main entrance I saw signs for the Cafeteria. I followed the signs and came into a large cafeteria. Since it was in between meal times, there were no hot foods being offered. However, I was able to get a sandwich, a dish of mixed fruit, and a bottle of chocolate milk.

I inquired at the Information Desk and found out how to get to the hotel by bus and how to get from the hotel to the hospital by bus.

Back at the hotel, I cleaned up and sat down to figure out where I stood financially. I still had a couple hundred dollars in my purse. I opened the envelope that Chief Castor gave me. When I counted all the money inside, there was $594. I wept at the kindness and loyalty of Willard’s fellow police officers.

When I saw Willard that evening I was again asked to limit my visit to ten minutes. Willard was more alert than he had been that afternoon.  He moved his lips to form the words “I love you.”  That was the first time he had told me that in years. Then when I was getting ready to go, he formed the words, “Pray with me.” I bowed my head and said, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen. And Lord, thank you for bringing Willard and I together twenty-five years ago and thank you for bringing us together again this day. And please give Willard a good healing from the damage that bullet did to him.  Amen.”

I kissed Willard and saw the smile on his face and the tears in his eyes.

 

CHANGE OF LIFE - Chapter 24

On Sunday morning Willard arose from sleep and dressed. Instead of breakfast he decided to go to the bakery for his “Sunday treat” which he usually only had on the Sundays he had to work. He walked out of the bakery grinning, carrying a big coffee and a bag with a large overstuffed jelly doughnut with real berries in the jelly filling. He took them home, ate the doughnut, drank the coffee, and was anxious to go to Sunday School and Church. He really had something big for which to thank God. If he was able to do so, he wanted to share his good news with the pastor.

He was excited about Sunday School also. He had been reading through the Gospels like the pastor recommended. He hoped the Sunday School lesson was about something he had read. The men in the class were talking about the baseball standings and about politics. The teacher had a hard time getting any of the lesson presented.

In the church sanctuary Willard talked silently to God. He had so many questions to ask, but today he was occupied with thanking God for another chance to make his marriage succeed. He thought about Trey Mulcahey and Lance Simpson. He didn’t know why he hadn’t invited them to Sunday School. He asked God to work in their hearts and keep them from turning toward delinquency and crime.

Going out of church several ladies were keeping the pastor occupied so he went home. He warmed up a can of chicken and dumplings, opened a can of peaches, and made a cup of instant coffee. With Dolores coming home he knew that he wouldn’t have any more Sunday dinners out of a can.

After he ate and washed the dishes, he sat in the living room reading his Bible. Why had he stayed away from church, from reading the Bible, and from praying all these years?  Would things have been better if he and Dolores had gone to church together and prayed at home together?

On Monday, as soon as roll call was over, he went to the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant Hageman, I know that this is short notice but I need the rest of this week off. Dolores called Friday night and then again Saturday night. She is coming in on the train to Little Rock about 3 AM tomorrow morning. I booked a room in one of the hotels in Little Rock. We are going to walk and talk and try to work things out. If we can work things out, she will come back here with me.”

“You are correct in saying that it’s short notice. On the other hand, I can’t think of anything more important. I’ll find someone to fill in for you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

Out in the squad car he told Ginger his good news.

“That is wonderful, Sergeant O’Reilly.”

As they were going by the school yard, they saw two boys breaking bottles on the basketball pad. He stopped the car and stood up outside the door,

“You young men come here right this minute!”

Instead they took off running and Willard ran after them. They had too much head start on him and he soon returned to the car.

“While you were out of the car we had a call from the dispatcher. There was a report of gun shots on County Road 2. A Sheriff’s Deputy was near there and drove up Route 2 to investigate. He reported that he saw at least four pickup trucks and he saw bodies lying on the ground. He said two men were loading packages from one pickup into another one. The one they were loading is a green Ford pickup. (Willard was already underway)

“He said it looked to him like the men in the other three pickups shot out the tires and radiator of the truck that was being unloaded, probably to hijack it. However, the two men in the truck they stopped somehow overpowered them and killed them all in a gun battle. That was all and the last they heard from the Deputy.

“The dispatcher said for us to go to Eagle Lake Crossroad and block Route 2 from that direction. A State Policeman is being sent out Patsville Road to where it crosses Route 2 from that direction. A Sheriff’s Deputy is going down US 63 to Hilo where Route 2 crosses US 63 and will turn onto Route 2 and go toward the crossroad with the Patsville Road in case they have gone beyond the crossroad before the State Trooper gets there. Several ambulances are following the State Trooper. They will wait until the crime scene is all clear before they move in.”

“Tell the dispatcher that when we get to Eagle Lake Crossroad we are going another mile and a half on Route 2 to where there is a junction with a Potlatch Road. The shooters could turn off County Road 2 onto that road and they would then have a choice of two roads that lead out to State Route 160. We will pull into that junction and will be blocking the Potlatch Road and in a good position to ambush them if they come running down County Road 2.”

Ginger repeated all that to the dispatcher.

When they arrived at the Potlatch Road, Willard pulled the patrol car into the road. He said to Ginger.

“You get up in front of the car so that you have the car shielding you. If you see the green Ford pickup roaring down the road, fire at it from the left hand side, then move to the right hand side and try to fire again. Hopefully, I’ll be there to help you.”

Willard got out of the car and took the shotgun with him. He stayed off the road and worked his way toward the green pickup which was beyond him. The two men had a map spread across the hood. They grabbed it up and jumped into the truck.

“Did they see me or hear me?”

Then he heard one of them yell,

“Where’s the f****** keys?  The driver must have them in his pocket.”

They both got out and started going from one man to the next lying on the ground searching through their pockets. They were shielded from Willard by the other trucks.

“Here’s a set of keys.”

“Give ‘em here. Let me try them”

As he was going to the truck, Willard had a clear shot and hit him in the back with a shotgun blast. The back of his shirt turned crimson and he stumbled to the ground. The other man circled around behind the other trucks toward Willard. Willard could see what he was doing and circled in the same direction. He was aiming in the direction where he thought the man was so that when he came up to take a shot he could get him.

Suddenly, a shot of pain went through his back and out his side. He turned and saw the man he had shot had rolled over and had a pistol pointed at him ready to shoot again. Willard let go another shotgun blast. He saw the other man rise to take a shot at him. He would have to reload the shotgun. He didn’t know if he could manage his pistol. He was on the verge of passing out. He ducked down and heard a shot. The man screamed. There was another shot and he was silent.

Ginger ran up to him.

“It looks like both the bad guys are dead. Hang in there. I’m going to the radio to call for help, then I’ll be right back.”

Running back to the car Ginger called in her report,

“Officer down! Officer down! Sergeant O’Reilly is seriously injured with a gunshot wound into his back and out through his side. He needs help fast. The two gunmen are dead. There are five civilians lying on the ground with gunshot wounds. We are on County Road 2. We are two miles from Eagle Lake Crossroads. I repeat both gunmen are dead. We need help fast.”

Ginger ran back to Willard.

“Hang in there. The ambulance is on its way. I think several ambulances are just several miles down the road waiting for the all clear. I told them that both the gunmen were dead. Hang in there Willard. You need to see Dolores and work things out. Don’t give up on us.”

About that time the State Police arrived along with three ambulances.   While the EMTs from one ambulance were working on Willard, EMTs off the other two ambulances were going from one body to the next. They found two who were still alive, but unconscious.

Meanwhile, the State Policeman was busy clearing a path through the tangle of trucks so the ambulances could go out in the direction of Eagle Lake Crossroad. That was the shortest route to Prattsville and the hospital. He used Willard’s patrol car and his own to push the trucks out of the way enough so that the ambulances could get through. The other ambulances had already left and the EMTs were still working on Willard.

When they left with Willard, Ginger followed in the patrol car. She followed the ambulance to the Emergency entrance. The doctor on duty told the EMT’s to bring him into the ER and he would check him, but that he had already called for the helicopter to evacuate him to the Trauma Center in Little Rock. Ginger waited until the helicopter arrived, and Willard was loaded onto it. Then she went back to the station.

When she walked into the station, everyone crowded around wanting to hear what had happened.

“Excuse me. I have to wash my hands and face and powder my nose.”

In the Ladies room she heaved and heaved until there wasn’t anything inside that wasn’t attached. Then she sat down on a chair that was in the room and she started wailing and crying. She couldn’t stop. Every time that she stopped crying, she started again. Then she remembered the day that Willard threw up on the side of the car and sat on the steps crying. SHE HAD REPORTED HIM!  Then she started crying again.

“Pull yourself together. There are two important things that you have to do. You have to make arrangements for someone to meet Dolores and tell her what has happened. Then you have to write a report so that it will be in writing that Sergeant O’Reilly is a hero. Then you can go home, take a hot bath, and cry on your husband’s shoulder.”

She washed her face with gallons of cold water and then walked out. The crowd had thinned out. To those remaining she said,

“I have to see the Captain, then I’ll write my report. You can all read it.”

She went to the Captain’s office and knocked.

“Captain, I have just returned from that shooting. Sergeant O’Reilly is a real hero. I’ll write my report as soon as I leave your office. First, I want to know that someone will meet that train and let Mrs. O’Reilly know that her husband is in the Trauma Center in Little Rock. If no one else can do it, I will go myself, though frankly I am in no shape to make a trip to Little Rock in the middle of the night. I am looking forward to a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep.”

“Patrolman Colvin, put your mind at rest. I am already working on that. I intend to call the Little Rock Police and speak to one of their majors. I think they will do it as a courtesy for a fellow policeman wounded on duty. If not, I will go myself if there is no one from our department who can go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With her mind at ease on that point, Ginger sat down to write up the report of the day’s events. She emphasized the bravery of Sergeant O’Reilly and how it was his plan that had brought the gunmen down. She said that while Sergeant O’Reilly had the second gunmen covered, the first gunman, who they thought was dead, rolled over and shot the Sergeant once before O’Reilly returned fire and killed him. In the ensuing confusion she shot the second gunman who was ready to shoot at Sergeant O’Reilly.

CHANGE OF LIFE - Chapter 23

 

I was excited when I put up the phone.  I had been afraid Willard might be mad at me, or maybe had adjusted to me being gone and wouldn’t want me back in his life, or maybe even would be making plans to divorce me.  None of those fears were true. He was happy to hear from me and happy that I was coming back to him!

First, I had to make a reservation for the train. I tried calling AMTRAK, but either the office was closed or they weren’t answering the phone. I will go to the library and use the computer the first thing in the morning.

Back in the dormitory I undressed to get ready for bed. Willard won’t think I’m a fat sow now. I trimmed down some more since being in Chicago. Tomorrow I’ll look for a few pieces of nice lingerie to take with me. I want Willard to be glad to have me back. I need for him to desire me. That would put the icing on the cake of my feelings of self-worth.

The next morning I sat beside a young woman from Baltimore. She was a student at Towson University.

I said, “Baltimore is my hometown. I graduated from Dundalk High School. When I was your age, your school was Towson State Teachers’ College. In those days there were no funds to assist students who couldn’t afford college. Some would go to Towson State Teachers College because if you signed an agreement to teach for two years in Maryland, the tuition was free. You still had to pay for books and room and board.”

“I’ve never had to think about getting enough money for college or clothes or anything that I needed. All my friends come from well to do families. This summer I want to travel around the country and meet ordinary people who have to struggle to survive. The economic recession and unemployment are just newspaper articles for me. I want to meet people on the other side of life.”

“How have you been doing?”

“Not very well. While you are traveling, you are almost in a cocoon with other travelers.”

“Try traveling by bus. Talk to a passenger on the bus. Talk to people sitting on the benches in the station. Get off in a small town and stay for a couple days. Talk to the waitresses, the hotel maids, the gas station attendants. In a city, like here, find the Salvation Army, and ask if you can volunteer serving meals or something else that puts you in touch with people.”

“Thanks.”

After breakfast I hurried to the library and made a reservation on the train leaving Chicago at 2PM Monday and arriving in Little Rock at 3 AM Tuesday. I didn’t see the value of a roomette if I would have to get up at 3 AM. As for the dining car, the only meal would be supper. I could go to Union Bakery and buy a sandwich to take onto the train,

There was a walking tour that day, but I decided to go shopping. I went back to the big department stores. There is nothing to compare to them in Pine Bluff or even Little Rock. I decided to spend about $100. I wanted to buy a sexy nightgown and maybe a couple saucy panties to wear when I was with Willard in Little Rock.  When I was hungry at midday, I went to Starbucks and bought a muffin and coffee for lunch. I did more looking than shopping. I am going to miss the big city atmosphere. I had grown up in a big city.

I had almost finished shopping. I thought of a headscarf. I would want one tomorrow. I didn’t know if the one I bought before was in the box, or maybe hadn’t been packed. I hadn’t seen it in the suitcase.

Back at the hostel I put my packages on the bed with my suitcase, and went back out to buy some supper. That evening I called Willard again.

“Willard, I got a ticket on the train this Monday. I’ll be getting into Little Rock about 3AM Tuesday. Can you meet me?”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

“I’m going to St. Stanislaus Church tomorrow. I have been going to a Methodist Church with the girls. I went to St. Stanislaus the first Sunday that I was in Chicago. It reminds me of the Catholic Church I used to attend with my girl friends who were Polish.”

“I went back to Baltimore for a visit. I took some pictures of the house where you lived when we were dating. Dundalk has really changed. Our high school is a junior high school now. I went to Harbor Place a couple times. In fact I went to a Methodist Church about six blocks from Harbor Place. That was the first time I had been in church for as long as I can remember. After I came back, I’ve been going to church every Sunday. I’m reading the Bible every day also.”

“Willard, we have so much to talk about, but I am going to cut this short. I want to save enough minutes on this phone in case I have to use it on the trip. Good-night, Willard.”

“Good-night, Dolores. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

After the call was over, I sat in the lobby for a while, then went back to my dormitory room and began laying out the clothes I would wear tomorrow, hanging the clothes for Monday in my locker, and putting the rest of the things in my suitcase.

I lay in bed thinking of what it would be like to be in bed with Willard, to have him paying attention to me, and desiring me.

The next day at breakfast the young woman from Baltimore named Brenda sat beside me. She asked me,

“What are your plans for today?”

“This will be my last Sunday in Chicago. The first Sunday that I was here I attended services at St. Stanislaus Catholic Church. It is an historic church. Chicago used to have a very large Polish population. I understand that they rerouted the John F. Kennedy Expressway to avoid disturbing it.”

“Could I come along with you?”

“Of course. Do you have a headscarf?  Women wear something on their head inside the church. I wear a headscarf. Some women even put a fancy handkerchief on their head with bobby pins.”

“I think that I brought a pillbox hat.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby about 10 AM”

I enjoyed Brenda’s company. I was overcome with emotion when I entered the church. This time I remembered to watch for people kneeling before we entered the pew. I was overwhelmed with gratitude to God for the response Willard had toward me, that I could go back, and we could try again. I was also filled with tearful nostalgia remembering my childhood. I had an understanding of my mother that had escaped me all these years. I wish that I could talk to my mother.

Brenda had been in many large churches for weddings and christenings, so the Catholic church was not strange to her. She noticed a number of distinctly Polish relics and paintings including the Black Madonna.

After church we took the el back to the area where the hostel was located. We went into a large cafeteria for our Sunday dinner.

“You know, Brenda, Chicago is the perfect city for you to become acquainted with blue collar America. For the past month or so I have been babysitting two girls ages 11 and 7 for their single mom who works as a waitress to support them. I had to leave and she is going to need someone to watch them until school starts. There was no pay, just free room and board. It is in a blue collar neighborhood. If you would be interested in being an unpaid nanny for the rest of the summer, I’ll give her a call.”

“You know that would be a perfect way to really become acquainted with people who live on the other side of life. Would you call her?”

I called Maggie’s number. She answered on the first ring.

“Maggie, this is Dolores. I am going to be leaving Chicago tomorrow. I was wondering if you have found anyone to watch your girls?”

“No, Maggie, and I’m afraid that I will get fired if I don’t find someone right away. I’ve already missed a day.”

“I met a young lady from Baltimore at the hostel where I am staying. She is a student at Towson University. She is on summer vacation, looking for a summer job. I told her about you and she seemed interested. Would you like for her to come over this afternoon and talk to you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Brenda, could you go over there now?”

“Yes.”

“She said that she would come over to see you now.”

“Thank you, Dolores, and good luck.”

I told Brenda what el line to take, what stop to get off, and drew a map on a paper napkin of how to get to Maggie’s house from the el stop.”

That evening Brenda returned to the hostel to pick up her things. She told me that Maggie wanted her to start right away.

“Their house is very plain and poor but clean and neat. My room is Spartan in every way except for that lovely futon and its comforter.”

On Monday, I left the hostel about 11AM. I took a cab to Union Station because I had a box and a suitcase. When I arrived at the Station, I had to pick up my ticket first. On a whim I upgraded to a roomette. I checked my box and then went to the Metropolitan Lounge. They took my suitcase and gave me a pass.

I left the Lounge and went outside and around the exterior of the Station to the Union Bakery. It was crowded. I ordered a bowl of soup and a sandwich on pretzel bread. I ate the soup and took the sandwich with me.

 “What a dopey thing to do. I upgraded to sleeper car. I will get my supper in the dining car.” 

Just then I saw a homeless man shuffling along away from the Station.

“Sir, would you like to have a sandwich?”

He gave me a broad smile as I handed him the bag.

At the Metropolitan Lounge I received royal treatment. When my train number was called, I went up to the door. I gave a man my suitcase claim ticket. He put the suitcase on a cart. Another man led us out to our sleeping car, gave my bag to an attendant who helped me onto the car and led me to my roomette.

Supper in the dining car was nice. The linen tablecloth, silver utensils, polite server were all touches of luxury. I did not have to sit across from snooty women. The couple who sat at my table were motorcycle enthusiasts. The man was wearing a black teeshirt with a pocket. On his arms were tattoos. The woman with him looked the part of a biker gang doll. They were both friendly and talkative. They lived in Texas and were coming back from the funeral of the man’s uncle.

I returned to my roomette and watched the scenes flash by as the sun sank into the horizon. I wondered when Willard would leave for Little Rock. When the attendant came to make up the bed, I decided to lie on top of the covers in my dress. However, it became cold and I pulled the cover over me.

I fell asleep and was awakened by the attendant rapping on my door.

“Little Rock in about thirty minutes.”

I straightened myself up, took my suitcase down and waited for the train to slow down and stop.