by Todd Daley
CHAPTER 76
The Last Supper
Amon decided to have a special dinner for Tom and Joanie to thank him for his efforts in getting Lou Stout and the Curtis staff to participate in the faculty–senior basketball game for charity. Several teachers from Curtis were invited, including Dick Grimsby, Tony Tumali, union rep Alan Katz, as well as Amon’s biggest fan, the curly-haired Lora, clattering her copper bracelets and anklets—to the distraction of everyone around her.
Mary and Amon had worked hard cleaning and decorating a large dining room, in which a long table was set with dishes and utensils that were mix-and-match pieces. There was a clean linen tablecloth and a big crystal vase filled with wildflowers picked from the North Shore’s woods. Amon, dressed in a white dress shirt and white cotton trousers, sat at the head of the table below Cara’s portrait of him with the miraculous halo. Mary, wearing a simple white summer dress, sat calmly next to her soul mate. The stress of the past few months with regard to the city’s clearing the harbor of its abandoned ships, corroded hulks, and rotting docks, as well as its seizing of his tugboat, was written on her pretty careworn face. Loyal, steadfast, hardworking, and totally devoted to Amon, she was the very personification of saintliness.
Tom thought about his first acquaintance with Martha and Mary from his days of hanging out at Kaffman’s bar on Morningstar Road. Both young women were novice teachers, like himself, struggling to adapt to that demanding profession.
In the ensuing years, Martha had remained the same strong-willed, petulant woman, while Mary had grown in character, transforming her beliefs and values into concrete actions of caregiving to those in need. An objective observer might associate Martha with stagnation and Mary with enhancement.
Turning to Dick Grimsby, Tony Tumali said, “Well, Dick, are we going to witness any miracles today from Amon?”
“Maybe not. His healing powers aren’t quite what they were a few years ago.”
“How’s your leg? I noticed you’ve been wearing that brace again.”
“The leg’s all right. It’s still better than it was before Amon intervened,” the congenial biology teacher replied.
“Amon helps everyone who crosses his path. He is a very kind person who brings out the best in people,” Lora said reverently, rattling her copper bracelets gently.
“Of course. I wonder if that old black-and-white TV set I found on that abandoned ship is still working,” Tony replied.
“Actually, it still works. They have it in the boardinghouse on Simonson Avenue. You have a talent for retrieving old junk and giving it a second life,” Tom interjected.
“Well, I found you, Tom, drinking in some bar on the Island. And I rehabilitated you,” Tony snapped.
Joanie giggled, to Tom’s dismay. “Well, your friend is very funny.”
“The stories about my drinking are grossly exaggerated.”
“They’re gross, but they’re not exaggerated. Tom is a recovering barhopper,” Tony declared.
“And Tony is a recovering tightwad,” Tom replied.
“No, Tony is a recovering penny-pincher,” Dick chimed in.
“Considering the average paycheck of schoolteachers in this city, we all have to be frugal in our spending,” Alan Katz, the teachers’ union rep, commented.
“Maybe it’s time for another strike,” Tom said.
“This guy’s a friggin’ troublemaker. You better keep him on a tight leash,” Tony said, motioning to Joanie.
“I’ll try, but Tom has a mind of his own. He tends to go off half-cocked without rhyme or reason,” she replied mischievously.
“Half-cocked, you say? Anyway, striking is the weapon of last resort,” Tony said.
“Sure. I recall a certain member of the science department who crossed the picket line a few years back,” Alan snapped, nodding at Tony.
“Union contracts set the standard for wages and working conditions across the country,” Tom asserted.
“Absolutely. We had sweatshops and kids working in factories before unions existed in this country. The very idea of the weekend—time off from the workweek for workers—was created by unions,” Alan continued.
“Trade unions created the weekend. That’s an amazing fact,” Tom replied.
“They had weekend drinkers like you in mind,” Tony jibed.
Becoming more annoyed at Tony’s barbs, Tom was about to curse out his friend but was halted by Amon’s pre-speech preparations.
At that moment, Amon stood up, fumbling with a piece of paper that had a few paragraphs of a speech hastily scribbled on it in pencil. The young man who had come to be known as the Mariners Harbor Messiah seemed to be nervous.
“Thank you for coming here tonight. A great deal of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears have been given in rehabilitating this residence for the poor, the homeless, and the downtrodden of Mariners Harbor. My friend Tom was the first Islander that I became acquainted with, welcoming and helping me in more ways than I can recount. In this secular society of ours, it was gratifying to experience the kindness and generosity of the good people of the North Shore,” he recited, pausing to glance at Tom.
“Truly, their spirit has brought this wonderful old Victorian building back to life again. It’s nothing less than a miracle and a renaissance: creating a caring environment for the people who enter it from a world where indifference, neglect, and despair often abide. As in the pop song “Everyday People,” it makes no difference what group we’re in. We are all everyday people.”
Pausing to look at his paper again, Amon mentioned a passage from the Bible, Paul’s letter to the Corinthians: “‘Love is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it does not rejoice in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.’
“There is a famous poem by John Donne that echoes the highest sentiments of people in all walks of life, reaching out to help one another: ‘No man is an island entire of itself. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’”
Everyone in the audience was moved by Amon’s heartfelt words, particularly Mary, his devoted, long-suffering partner in all his endeavors. The tears flowed down her pretty, careworn face as she hugged her man passionately, unwilling to relinquish him in her grasp. Joanie looked at Tom fearfully, as if she foresaw an impending tragedy. A general sense of foreboding pervaded the large dining room, imposing an awkward silence on the celebrants. One by one, the Curtis teachers and Lora slowly left the Victorian house, gripped by sorrow and regret. As Lora left, her copper bracelets and anklets seemed to reverberate mournfully. The gentle ringing of the Curtis coed’s jewelry reminded Tom of a funeral dirge, commemorating the death of a Good Samaritan.
CHAPTER 77
The Apocalypse
On a sunny Saturday in early May, Tom and Joanie went for a leisurely stroll down Morningstar Road, as they had done years ago as love-struck teenagers. Alternately musing, joking, and chatting about mundane things, the two young people still had not come to terms with the twisting of fate that had reunited them. Human nature can be resilient with regard to unexpected setbacks but is uncomfortable with regard to unanticipated rewards. Perhaps the trite adage that nothing in life should be taken for granted tempered the happiness of their morning jaunt.
The circumstances behind the breakup of Joanie’s marriage remained unclear to Tom, who was hesitant to query her about these painful events. She clearly didn’t want to discuss her marriage. As a person who had gone through some rough times as a youngster, Tom understood the idea of allowing past events to remain in the past. All we have in life is the existential present, the uncertain future, and good intentions. Everything would be easier if people just tried to act constructively, as exemplified by the Mariners Harbor resident.
Appearing to read his thoughts, Joanie mentioned Amon’s speech, quoting St. Paul: “Lo
ve is patient and kind. It’s never mean or jealous. Love endures all things and hopes all things. It’s one of my favorite passages in the Bible.”
“Me too. Amon spoke from the heart. He really is the Messiah of Mariners Harbor—with all the good work he has done for the North Shore. Yet, he has made some enemies in the Harbor,” Tom replied.
“Amon healed me when I was at the hospital. As soon as he touched my forehead, the awful pain that wracked my head immediately stopped,” Joanie exclaimed.
“I saw him bring an elderly man back to life who had just suffered a fatal heart attack at a diner on Richmond Terrace. It’s definitely a gift that defies rational explanation,” Tom concurred.
“So why do those people hate him?” she asked.
“To put in words—greed and pettiness, the root of much of the trouble in this country. Instead of stressing what we have in common, people get hung up on our differences—ethnic, religious, class—whatever divides us in the name of the good old American dollar.”
“Well, I think there’s more good than evil in the world. And in the end, things turn out for the best,” Joanie replied.
“I don’t know. I’m not that optimistic. Good intentions don’t always lead to good ends. There’s too much bullshit in this crazy world,” Tom retorted.
As they reached the end of Morningstar Road and turned west on Richmond Terrace, they heard shots ring out from the harbor area where Amon had fixed up the derelict tugboat a few years ago. Running along the Terrace, Tom noticed an old battered sedan speed off and a woman bent over the prone body of a stricken man.
The two young people crossed the Terrace to where Mary was tending to Amon, who was bleeding profusely, having been struck in the chest by a bullet. Desperately she tried to staunch the bleeding with her head scarf. Tom took out a handkerchief from his back pocket to aid in this effort.
“They shot him as we walked along the waterfront this morning. It was an old beat-up Chevy, and the driver was wearing a black mask covering his eyes.”
Joanie ran across the street to a nearby house, banging on the door to get the residents to call an ambulance.
Gasping for breath, Amon tried to speak to Mary, who stroked his cheeks and urged him to rest quietly and wait for an ambulance. Already the head scarf and handkerchief were soaked through with his blood.
Determined to speak his final words, Amon said, “Forgive them. They know not what they’re doing. Mary, promise me you’ll continue helping the good people living with us.”
Mary assured him she would do so, and turning toward Tom, she signaled the skinny teacher to talk to her common-law husband. Crossing the street, Joanie joined the two young people, whispering that help was on the way.
“Amon, you’re gonna pull through this. A dumb bullet can’t stop the Mariners Harbor Messiah.” Tom recalled the first time he saw Amon attaching wires from his tugboat to a nearby utility pole. He had gotten a shock and was thrown to the ground, landing on a soft rotted wharf, apparently unscathed.
“You were my first and best friend on the Island,” he uttered weakly.
“Please. Speak no more,” Mary urged frantically.
“Remember, use the time given to you—the days, the hours, and the minutes—to help the poor, who will always be with us,” Amon continued in a halting manner.
“My love, don’t fret. Please don’t leave us,” Mary begged, sensing that Amon’s strength was flagging.
Somewhere off in the distance, the groaning siren of an ambulance could be heard. Was it too late? Like the police and firemen, often too late to render the help desperately needed by the victims, the sufferers of the world. At the same time, the mournful sound of church bells tolling could be heard. Tom recalled hearing church bells from deep in the Harbor when he first met Amon long ago.
Suddenly, Amon’s face beamed with a radiant smile as he looked at his beloved wife, but his breathing was labored. Borne by a strong gust of wind, a huge gray cloud abruptly covered the sun and darkened the bright blue sky.
“No! No! I cannot bear it. Don’t forsake me!” Mary wailed, stroking his face.
“Amon is strong. He’ll make it through this,” Tom asserted, trying to convince himself and Mary.
The sudden darkening of the sky was a bad sign. Tom wondered what would happen to Amon’s boardinghouse and his other endeavors. He understood that Amon’s legacy would endure only if his friends continued his good work.
Joanie rushed over to them, bent over the prone Mariners Harbor Messiah – desperately trying to staunch the surging blood from his chest, which had ceased panting. She whispered that help was on the way. Like the head scarf and Tom’s handkerchief, her white hankie was crimson with blood.
The young man smiled weakly, and then his face went blank and still. Immediately, the gray cloud dispersed and the sun emerged, pouring golden rays of light and warmth upon them. This sign of nature’s rebirth stunned the three young people, mitigating their despair and giving them hope for the future.
THE END
About The Author
The author has taught science and mathematics for many years on the high school and college levels. His approach to teaching is to make abstract principles concrete by connecting them to real life experiences. The students ought to come away with facts and ideas, the ability to solve problems, and most importantly – make ethical decisions. This book is about a compassionate young man with remarkable gifts, who is brought down by the tide of public opinion. It represents the third book of the Tom Haley trilogy: 1950s-1960s Fable, 1960s-1970s Fable, and The Mariners Harbor Messiah.