by Todd Daley
“What happened?” the skinny science teacher asked the woman, who was clearly upset by the accident.
“My car struck the cat. It darted out into the road, and I couldn’t stop in time,” she replied tearfully.
“It’s okay, lady. I hit a squirrel the other day on Walker Street. Never had time to stop. It could have been worse. Some parts of the Island have deer crossing the road,” Tom said, noticing a frown on Amon’s face.
The cat was howling and writhing in pain as Amon stroked its belly and murmured some soothing words to the distressed animal. It appeared to have an internal injury to the head, which was bleeding.
“Maybe we can bring it to the vet,” Tom suggested to the woman, who was visibly shaken.
Turning back to the injured cat and Amon, Tom was surprised to observe the cat, which was pure black, purring and licking Amon’s hand with affection.
“My God! It looks like he’s feeling better,” Tom exclaimed.
“Of course he’s better. It’s a gift I’ve always had. My hands can heal,” Amon stated calmly, stroking the cat under its chin.
Ecstatic, the chubby woman clapped her hands joyfully. “What can I give you?”
“Nothing.” Then Amon paused a for a moment and said, “The next time you pass by, perhaps a few cans of soup, a loaf of bread, and some cat food. I’m going to keep this little guy,” he said, stroking the cat.
“For sure. Anything you need,” she replied joyfully.
“So you’re not only a soothsayer, but also a healer. You’re an amazing guy,” Tom said, scrutinizing Amon with renewed interest.
“To paraphrase Henry James, I work in the dark, do what I can, and I give what I have,” Amon recited with a half smile.
Shirley Chisholm
Shirley Chisholm was the first African American woman elected to Congress, representing Bedford-Stuyvesant from 1968 to 1983. In 1972, she was nominated for president at the Democratic convention, becoming the first African American candidate for the nation’s highest office. Born in Brooklyn, Shirley Chisholm was sent to Barbados to live with her maternal grandmother until the age of ten. Because of her early years in the Caribbean, she spoke with a strong West Indian accent. Returning to Brooklyn, Shirley Chisholm attended New York City public schools, including Girls High School, which at the time had an excellent academic reputation, attracting girls from all over Brooklyn.
In 1946, Shirley Chisholm graduated from Brooklyn College with a bachelor’s degree in education. While working in a nursery school in the late 1940s and early 1950s, she attended graduate school and earned a master’s degree in education from Columbia University in 1952. At this time she met and married Conrad Chisholm, a private investigator specializing in negligence lawsuits. Running a day care center, Shirley Chisholm became known as an authority on early-education issues. She first became involved in politics by working as a volunteer for political clubs, as well as the League of Women Voters in the 1950s.
In 1965, Shirley Chisholm was elected to the New York State Assembly, where she served for three years. In the State Assembly, she obtained unemployment benefits for domestic workers. In addition, Mrs. Chisholm sponsored and helped to pass the SEEK program, which helped disadvantaged students attending college through extensive remedial services in New York City high schools. In August 1968, she was elected as the Democratic National Committee woman from New York State.
Later in 1968, Shirley Chisholm was elected to Congress from the newly redistricted Bedford-Stuyvesant area of Brooklyn. Her campaign slogan was “Unbought and unbossed.” With her victory, she became the first black woman elected to Congress. One of her early successes in Congress was to expand the food stamp program. In particular, she started the WIC program, which provided milk and food to poor children. Her congressional staff consisted of only women, of which half were black. From her own experience in the New York legislature, Mrs. Chisholm always believed that she had been discriminated against because of her sex, rather than her race.
In the 1972 presidential election, Shirley Chisholm made a bid for the Democratic nomination for president. Calling for a “bloodless revolution,” she formally announced her candidacy at a Brooklyn Baptist church. However, her campaign was hampered by poor organization and a lack of funds. Many party regulars did not consider Shirley Chisholm a serious candidate for president. She received little support from her black brothers, complaining that “men are men.” Culturally, many black men were hung up by the “black matriarch” thing. Her husband, Conrad Chisholm, supported his wife: “I have no hang-ups about a woman running for president.” Shirley Chisholm’s base of support was ethnically diverse, including prominent women like Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem.
Shirley Chisholm often reached out to people of opposing political views. She visited George Wallace in the hospital after he was shot in 1972. Later on, Wallace supported Mrs. Chisholm in her effort to give domestic workers the minimum wage. The former Alabama governor lobbied Southern congressmen to get the bill through Congress. In her congressional career, Shirley Chisholm worked hard to improve the living conditions of inner-city residents. With regard to foreign policy, she opposed the military draft, the Vietnam War, and the expansion of nuclear weapons. After leaving Congress, Mrs. Chisholm resumed her teaching career at Mount Holyoke College. In the 1980s, she campaigned for Jesse Jackson in his bids for the presidency. Shirley Chisholm was a pioneer for the rights of black people and women, blazing a path to be followed by a new political generation in subsequent years.
CHAPTER 11
More Wonders
A few weeks later, Tom was sitting with his mom in the kitchen, reading the Advocate, the local Staten Island newspaper. “Wow! Remember that guy living in the Bethlehem Steel shipyard I told you about?” he asked, pointing to the community news section of the paper.
“Yes. He sounded like a crackpot, living on an old tugboat. In this day and age, some people will do anything rather than work for a living. There are no free lunches in this country,” she said cynically.
“Well, it says here Amon—that’s his name, by the way—assisted a little boy who fell from a tree. According to eyewitnesses, the boy appeared to have a broken leg. But after the stranger stroked his leg, while chanting a prayer, the child’s leg was completely healed. The kid got up and walked away, as if nothing had happened. The boy’s parents visited Amon in his tugboat residence, offering him money, which he refused. Later, they returned with a donation of food, which he accepted gratefully.”
“That Staten Island Advocate is a scandal sheet—a rag that I wouldn’t use to wipe my behind. I’ll never forget the front-page story they did about your father’s nephew, Rusty. Remember when he turned up at the house with a bag of money from robbing a liquor store?”
“How could I forget, Mom? You used to remind Cara and me about that story twice a month, as a sort of weird object lesson. I was afraid to go within fifty feet of, much less enter, any liquor store on the North Shore!” Tom replied.
“Sure. You of all people, who frequents the saloons of Elm Park more often than you go to the public library. Anyway, this kook has everybody fooled. I wonder what his real game is,” she continued.
“So what are you saying, Mom? That he’s up to some kind of scam or racket?”
“If the shoe fits, wear it, my naive son.”
“From my own observations, Amon is a charismatic person with amazing gifts that elude rational explanation. And unlike so many of our fellow citizens, Amon is not concerned with pecuniary matters.”
“Just keep an eye on your wallet. For a science teacher, you’re pretty gullible. And don’t talk about that man to your students or the teachers at Curtis High School. They’ll think you flipped your lid!” she warned her son.
“Mom, not everything in life can be explained in terms of cause-and-effect laws of science. There is a spiritual side of life too,” Tom retorte
d.
“Here’s a spiritual thought—cleanliness is next to godliness. So go clean up your sloppy room, and take out the garbage,” Claire Haley commanded her son.
“And don’t forget that old standby—life must be lived on the basis of reality,” Tom recited as he left the kitchen.
Yet he couldn’t blame his mother for her cynical attitude toward mavericks as a result of past experiences with shady characters, like his father. As a middle-aged person who had experienced the ups and downs of life, her unhappy yesterdays greatly exceeded her sunny tomorrows.
CHAPTER 12
Visit to the Hospital
“So you want me to see this woman friend of yours at the hospital?” Amon asked, fixing the skinny science teacher with an intense stare.
“Joanie’s only twenty-two years old. She’s too young to be so afflicted. I’ll drive you there. Just look at her. Please,” Tom implored.
“Well, there’s no harm in that. But remember, I’m no miracle worker. Despite what the local papers say.”
Joanie squealed with joy when Tom and Amon entered her room. After an exchange of pleasantries, Tom nodded to his friend. Joanie looked at Amon with grateful eyes, sensing he was there to help her.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Amon asked in a low voice, looking at the pretty, young woman reverently.
“Not too good. I woke up with a fever and a bad headache,” she said agitatedly.
The three young people began chatting amiably. Joanie talked about her whirlwind dating with Tom back in high school.
“Tom is a very nice person. I used to see him delivering papers early in the morning on his old red bicycle, years before we started dating,” she related.
“Absolutely, my friend Tom is the best. He’s one of those people you feel you’ve always known—even before you actually meet him,” said Amon.
“There was this softball game, and I kept yelling at him to get his attention. Then, he collided with another player and I ran out on the field to help him.”
“It was fate. You and Tom were supposed to meet. That incident on the field was truly an act of God,” Amon stated bluntly.
Going over to Joanie, the stranger said, “Just close your eyes for a minute, sweetheart, while I keep my hand on your forehead.”
Joanie did as she was instructed and soon fell into a deep sleep. Amon signaled Tom, and the two young men left the room.
“You’re still in love with her, my friend. There’s definitely something between you,” Amon asserted.
“Oh, no. We’re just friends. Joanie’s married, you know. Just old friends, that’s all,” Tom replied in a determined manner.
CHAPTER 13
Martha and Mary
Tom stopped his old gray Pontiac on Richmond Terrace, adjacent to the abandoned Bethlehem Steel shipyard, where Amon lived on his refurbished tugboat. Out of the beat-up sedan emerged Tom, his girlfriend Martha, and her friend Mary. Like Martha, Mary taught at St. Mary’s school in Port Richmond, farther down on Richmond Terrace. Carefully, the threesome walked on the rotted old wharf that led to Amon’s tugboat. Tom carried a shopping bag of some clothes and a pair of shoes for Amon, who greeted them warmly and accepted the donations with his customary gratitude.
“Thank you so much. As you can see, my clothes are threadbare, and my boots have seen better days,” he said with no hint of embarrassment.
“I want to introduce you to Mary. Of course, you’ve already met Martha,” the skinny young science teacher said hesitantly. It was clear that Martha was not fond of Amon, which only made Tom more determined to maintain his friendship with the gifted young man. Smiling, Amon gave both young women a hug and welcomed them to his home. Mary immediately asserted herself, telling the young stranger to sit down on a chair while she removed his old boots and frayed socks.
“Your feet are filthy. Martha, look for a basin. I’m going to wash those God-awful feet,” Mary declared forcefully.
“Now this is ridiculous! He’s a grown man, capable of washing his own feet,” Martha replied, annoyed by the entire situation.
“Martha, don’t fret over such matters. If this lovely woman wants to be kind to me, let it be,” Amon lectured the impetuous schoolteacher.
Within a few minutes, Mary was washing the stranger’s feet. In addition, she scrubbed his face, neck, hands, arms, and upper body, to the amusement of Tom and the chagrin of his girlfriend. Then Mary, who clearly liked Amon, told him to “wash your lower half, and put on the new clothes, because we’re all going out for a bite to eat.”
While the stranger busied himself with washing and dressing in his new wardrobe, Tom looked around Amon’s living quarters, noticing two big stacks of old newspapers going back to the 1950s—the Staten Island Advocate. Tom wondered if Amon’s knowledge of the red-bearded hermit’s death may have been due to the latter’s perusal of that local newspaper.
Upon Amon’s insistence, it was agreed that they would walk to the restaurant. Amon decided on a small, dingy diner going west on Richmond Terrace, a few blocks after Union Avenue. Just as Tom was a fan of Elm Park, Amon was a confirmed enthusiast of Mariners Harbor in all its offerings.
Strolling along Richmond Terrace, Tom noticed the run-down Victorian apartment house, where his parents lived when he and Cara stayed with their foster parents in South Jersey. So much had happened in the ensuing fifteen years. Thomas Haley had died of a heart attack, Cara was now a married woman, and Tom was a veteran science teacher at Curtis High School. He recalled looking at the tugboat and ship traffic from their second-floor window as a boy, amazed and dismayed at the busy North Shore neighborhood, which faced the gray choppy waters of the Kill Van Kull.
“You lived there at one time, Tom?” Amon inquired, pointing at the dilapidated apartment house.
“How did you know that?” Tom replied, amazed at the stranger’s uncanny perception.
“It’s obvious the way you scrutinized the place that it had been your home,” Amon replied in a matter-of-fact manner.
“What a guy! I always wanted to go out with a person with ESP,” Mary exclaimed as Martha shook her head petulantly.
“They opened up a new pizza place on Forest Avenue, which claims to serve the biggest pizza in New York,” Martha said, attempting to change the subject.
“Martha, there’s a place in Brooklyn where the pizza is a tabletop, supported by four cardboard legs. So you would just eat the table—a meal fit for a big-boned girl like you,” Tom wisecracked to his girlfriend.
Martha responded with a hard punch to the skinny science teacher’s gut, which left him breathless momentarily.
Arriving at the gloomy diner, the four young people took seats in a booth. There were a few middle-aged patrons eating at the counter and in the booths. A gaunt gray-haired waitress took their order: hamburgers and french fries for the gentlemen, and BLT sandwiches with coleslaw for the ladies.
“It’s my treat, folks. I just got a promotional pay raise for my master’s degree,” Tom announced proudly as his companions congratulated him.
“Hard work pays off in many ways, especially the intrinsic satisfaction of work itself. Who said, ‘Do not squander time, for that’s the stuff life is made of’?” Amon inquired.
“That was Ben Franklin, who also said, ‘Lost time is never found again,’” Tom declared, proud of his recall of that founding father’s assertions.
“Ben Franklin, of course. Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” Mary chimed in with a smile.
“Franklin also said the sleeping fox catches no chickens and the used key is always shiny,” Tom proclaimed happily.
“Will you stop already with those stupid Ben Franklin sayings!” Martha said stridently.
“Okay, we’ll quote Richard Nixon, with his false promises of ending the Vietnam War through Vietnamization. Or when he talks about
his wife’s Republican cloth coat. Or when he says, ‘Let me make one thing perfectly clear,’ before bullshitting the American people,” Tom replied.
“You seem to be very knowledgeable about American history,” Amon observed.
“Next to science, it’s my favorite subject. Occasionally I fill in for absent history faculty at Curtis,” the skinny teacher replied.
“Tom is a jack-of-all-trades: teacher, scholar, athlete, drinker, and rabble-rouser. In the Middle Ages, they would have hung him,” Martha commented sourly.
“Thank God we’re living in a secular world, where reason holds sway over fanaticism,” Tom replied.
Suddenly, there was a crash as a customer seated at the lunch counter fell to the floor. Amon instantly sprang into action, quickly joined by his companions. Assessing the elderly man closely, Amon declared that he must have had a heart attack. The diner’s owner said he’d call an ambulance. Mary put her ear onto the victim’s chest, trying to ascertain if his heart had stopped beating.
“It’s hopeless. I don’t hear a heartbeat, and he’s not breathing,” Mary said tearfully. The waitress said the man, whose name was Danny, often complained about chest pains.
“Where there’s faith, there’s hope.” Amon stroked the old man’s forehead and placed his hands on his chest, pushing rhythmically and whispering some words, which none of the spectators could hear.
Suddenly, the stricken man gasped for breath and opened his eyes. “Just rest awhile, my friend. And then go forth and live your life,” Amon proclaimed solemnly, aware that he had an audience.
“You’re amazing! A soothsayer and a faith healer. You’re my hero, Amon,” Mary said, hugging the young man ardently.
Even Martha was impressed. “Now I’ve seen everything.”