On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  Few leave. Among those who do are Angie and Randy who forgot to slip out before the altar call. In fact, Angie and Randy were among those who’d gone forward for prayer. Now, joining them in the aisles heading out the back doors are parents of small children who’ve fallen asleep during the unusually quiet service. By their looks back inside, it’s clear that these parents are as reluctant to depart from this hallowed hall as those who remain are eager to stay.

  STELLA SENSES BUSINESS WILL BE LIGHT TONIGHT and simply chooses not to open the stand after the service. She, too, has much on her mind and heads back to her trailer. She and Randy need to talk. She’s been holding against him the anguish of this past school year, the pregnancy, the doctor bills, and the loss of her grandbaby. The family simply silenced it, zipped it up, and stuffed it in the closets of their minds. It’s time to open the bag, release the anger and disappointment, forgive, and move forward.

  That’s what Doctor Jamieson spoke about this evening. Forgiveness – forgiving ourselves and forgiving others, extending mercy just as God has forgiven and continues to extend us mercy and grace. Gently, powerfully, this doctor’s words raked up memories; this verbal physician scraped off scabs, and lanced wounds. His carefully structured sermon created cognitive dissonance and made them uncomfortable with the belief that they could be conscientious Christians and withhold forgiveness.

  Doctor Jamieson boldly laid out the problem, describing how and why withholding forgiveness is harmful; next he outlined the single Biblical solution and artistically portrayed the freedom of forgiveness. He even quoted that maxim attributed to numerous speakers. “Withholding forgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

  The wise young minister didn’t leave them guilt ridden. Instead, with equal skill and understanding of the human psyche, he soothingly poured on the balm of the Word.

  And finally, Doctor Jamieson invited to the altar for prayer all who needed to ask for and to release forgiveness. Since that covered nearly everyone, nearly everyone in his hearing was touched by the sermon, and the majority was moved enough by the Word to make some changes. Most started with responding to the altar call. Details were private, so few spoke to anyone but God. The attending ministers understood and simply laid on hands and prayed inaudibly. What powerful quietness for a Youth Night service!

  Few are disappointed that the concert is a little less high powered than one might expect of youth musicians experimenting with the more contemporary sounds of gospel. The presence of the Spirit remains, and those attending admit that the lower energy level of the music is no less moving. Instead, they find themselves departing the tabernacle thinking more seriously about the lyrics of the songs than they might have had they not been so touched by the preaching of Dr. Jamison.

  BACK EARLIER THAN MOST EVENINGS, Angie has a few minutes to talk with her grandparents about the service; then they all settle down for the night before the last day of camp meeting. Angie draws the blanket-curtain divider and sits for a few minutes on the side of her cot. The lyrics of “I Got a Telephone in my Bosom” play through her mind as she prays again for Randy that he’ll have the courage to act, and for Ken, that all is going well for him.

  15 - SATURDAY with Ken

  ALL IS GOING WELL AND THEY’RE ON THEIR WAY to a pre-season game of the Cleveland Browns. Ken’s step-dad pulls the bench seat closer to the steering wheel to accommodate his shorter height. As usual, this means Ken will be scrunched in the front seat of their little Corvair.

  Thinking of small, Ken reminisces about his junior high school days, when his legs were shorter and before he started playing basketball. Back then, it was baseball, baseball, baseball. His real dad had been avid about the game, and every Sunday they’d go cheer for whatever Negro league team came to town. Other weeks, he cheered at the ball games his dad coached games at the project’s community center in their small town.

  Ken was going to be the next Bill White, and like Bill, hit as a lefty and protect first base. This now major leaguer had been his hero since the time Ken’s dad had coached Bill as a teenager. Just last week, grown-up Ken had heard about his hero on a radio broadcast of the St. Louis Cardinals, for whom Bill White was now playing first base. The announcer lauded Bill’s catch in the last inning with two men on base; he had gotten the last out and ended the possibility of the other team closing the gap and winning the game.

  Little Ken regularly played on Little League teams so he’d be ready when the call came for him. Riding along with his step-dad today, Ken recalls the dusty leather seat smell of the school bus that his Little League team rode to Cleveland the summer he was twelve years old. They’d won their division, and this trip was their reward.

  “ALRIGHT, YOUNS. SETTLE DOWN!” yells the coach, his freckly cheeks splotching red. The bus starts rolling. “Don’t forget we representing the entire Shenango Valley this afternoon. When we get to the stadium in Cleveland, I want youns to act like it. You know, we wouldn’t be here without the fine sportsmanship you showed throughout the season. And of course, winning the championship,” he adds, his green eyes sparkling with pride.

  The Little Leaguers give themselves a rousing cheer and are shushed by the coach who has more to say. “That’s enough of that. Now turn and look this way. Okay, youns know how to give a round of applause to the men from the Moose Lodge?” The boys nod.

  “Come on, now. You know they paid for these brand-new blue and gold jerseys we’re wearing today. And, yes, they also got us tickets to see the game.” The boys clap, but stop abruptly when coach announces, “You know Satchel Paige is pitching.”

  “Satchel Paige!”

  “Coach, you think we gonna meet him today?” they call out, standing up and holding the seatbacks in front of them to maintain their balance as the school bus rattles across the railroad tracks.

  “Where our seats gonna be?”

  “We gonna be close enough to see ‘im real good?”

  “Guys, guys, guys!” the coach hollers. “Sit down. Remember, we’re gentlemen, and gentlemen know how to behave.”

  “But, Coach. We gonna get to meet the Cleveland Indian players, right?”

  “I’m not sure. Let’s ask Mr. Corbett.” He directs their attention to one of the men sitting in the seat behind the bus driver. “Okay, team, give this member of the Loyal Order of Moose a big hand clap to show our appreciation for their support of our teams.”

  Of course, the little gentlemen comply. Then ask again,

  “We gonna get to meet the players, ain’t we Mr. Mooseman?”

  Mr. Corbett leans around the high-backed bus seat, acknowledges the applause of the Little Leaguers, and promises, “I’ll do what I can. The manager is a Moose, too. He may be watching to see if you guys will behave yourselves in the stadium.”

  “We’ll behave!”

  “We’ll be good!” they promise, en masse.

  “Yeah, Mr. Corbett. Ask Coach. We know how to behave.”

  “Ever thing gonna be hunky dory!”

  The team settles down when Coach’s wife passes out sandwiches and bottles of Coca-Cola the Women of the Moose packed for the team lunches. Some of the rowdier boys soon fall asleep, smearing the windows with their sweaty cheeks.

  KEN REMEMBERS little of that pro ball game itself other than he had a good time with his teammates and that they got two hot dogs apiece. Mr. Corbett bought them all seconds. What Ken does remember clearly came after the game.

  “ALRIGHT GUYS. I GOT GOOD NEWS. Mr. Corbett talked to his Lodge brother. He got us a chance to meet the players. Youns come on now. Line up orderly behind Mr. Corbett. We’re gonna follow them other Little League teams out to the third base line. When our team is called, we supposed to walk over to the dugout where we’ll get to shake hands with the players. Can I count on youns to act like athletes with some home training?”

  “Yes, Sir!” comes their unified response, and the team actually lines up in batting order and follows Mr. Corbett down to the field
. Coach brings up the rear. His wife has returned to the bus, exhausted and not really interested in being around one more high octane jock!.

  Little Ken neither leads the line-up as one of the team table setters who can be counted on to get on base, nor as a slugger who regularly gets a hit. Instead, Ken trails behind, a player at the bottom of the list. Coach places him in that spot because Ken is left handed, a switch hitter, and a good bunter. Coach likes to surprise the opposing teams based on what’s on the scoreboard. Being at the end of the line turns out to be a good thing for Ken, this time.

  Satchel Paige is a tall, wiry man in his early forties. He’d been a star in the Negro leagues before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball when the Brooklyn Dodgers drafted him. Now Satchel’s been playing for three years in Cleveland, and though older than most of his teammates, he’s not lost any of his power as a pitcher. A bonus for the boys today is that Satchel Paige still gets a kick out of meeting with the young ball players.

  Ken shuffles from foot to foot waiting for his talkative teammates to move along. He stares up in awe at Mr. Paige.

  “Howdy do, son,” Mr. Paige says, leaning his limber frame down to look Ken in the eye. His outstretched hand is swamped in the calloused limber fingers of this famous athlete. Ken’s right knee wobbles, and his throat clogs. He can hardly believe he’s actually shaking hands with Satchel Paige! Satchel Paige, who won 104 of 105 games in 1934. Satchel Paige, the oldest rookie in the major leagues, is shaking his hand!

  “Um, I’m fine, Sir. How’re you?” Ken asks, trying to be gentlemanly, then spurts. “You know I know all about you, Mr. Paige. My real dad. He’s one of your loyalest fans! He taught me all about you.”

  Mr. Paige nods indulgently, having heard it all before, but still is patient with his young fans.

  “You know my Dad’s gonna get me one of those Topps baseball cards. I collect baseball cards, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know, young man. But why you want that Topps card? They didn’t even spell my name right.”

  “Yeah, I know. But the statistics on the back are right. I know, ‘cause I checked ‘em. My friend’s dad got one. Anyway, if your name ain’t spelled right, the card could get to be a collector’s item. My friend’s dad says that’s a good thing.”

  “You’re right son. Odd cards are rare. Anyone who’s got one could become rich!”

  “Yeah, I know. I told you I collect cards, right? I got thirty-seven already. If I get me a Satchel Paige Topps card, I could be famous. I play good ball, too. I could be a famous player like you, Mr. Paige.”

  Mr. Paige smiles benevolently.

  “You think I keep playing ball, I might could get famous? They maybe even could make a baseball card for me and put it in one of them Bazooka Bubble Gum packs. You think so, Mr. Paige?” Ken’s jabbering, but he just can’t stop himself.

  “Well, young man. You just keep up the good work that got you and your teammates to this game. You never can tell. Now that they’re letting us Negroes in the Major League, you may very well become one of the best in the MLB.”

  Of course, Ken grins with pride that Satchel Paige himself says Ken might play in Major League Baseball!

  Behind him. “Come on Ken, let’s move it.” Coach impatiently gives Ken a little push to move him along. Ken steps forward, but looks back. He sees the reverence on Coach’s face when Mr. Paige grabs his hand and gives it a hardy shake. Coach is as thrilled as the boys to be shaking hands with this baseball legend.

  Walking back to the bus with Coach, both glowing from their encounter with Major League athletes, Ken asks, ““You think Mr. Paige right, Coach? You really think maybe I can play Major League Baseball?”

  “Maybe so, Ken. You’re pretty good now, and if you keep it up, who knows? You may be following in the footsteps of other men of your race who made it in the big leagues.”

  BUT KEN HADN’T KEPT IT IP. He only played one more year of baseball and then switched to basketball. His big sister, JoAnn, dated a guy on Coach Mac’s team. Paul gave her complimentary tickets to the whole series, and she took Ken to three games of the high school basketball tournament. Game after game, Ken watched in wonder at how much more fast-paced and exciting that game could be. It’s been basketball, basketball, basketball for him ever since.

  Except when he’s watching football. The Penn State football coach has been trying to recruit him, but Ken keeps turning him down. Ken has never carried enough weight to play that game safely. He is fast, but not bulky. Anyway, he doesn’t have time for all the conditioning, practice and extensive travel schedule of the Nittany Lions football team. Besides, Ken wants to be an engineer, not a running back.

  Still, football star Jim Brown of the Cleveland Browns is a player Ken admires as the man on and off the field. Even while in the Air Force, Ken had followed Jim Brown’s Syracuse College career. He’s playing tonight, and maybe, just maybe after the game, Ken’ll have a chance to shake the hand of another famous athlete.

  “My man, Jim Brown,” Ken unconsciously vocalizes and then asks, “Dad, will we have time to hang around after the game to maybe meet Jim Brown?”

  “All depends on how long the game last. You know it may be half an hour or more just getting out of the parking lot. Then in this little putt-putt Corvair, we got a two hour drive home once we get on the highway. Your mama gonna want to get up early and go up to the grounds for the final service in the morning.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. She’s eager to hear Reverend Raymond Reeves preach. They say he’s a big man with a bigger heart. I guess his wife’s going to sing, too. I heard Mom talking to her prayer partners about holding them both up in prayer.”

  “Well, she and them ladies are true prayer warriors. I hope they’re praying just as hard for good weather so we can work on that basement next week. Smiley, you know, Smiley, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I think so. Isn’t he the guy helping you line up craftsmen to help with the house?”

  “Yep. Smiley. He lets me know when good men are between jobs. That’s how we been able to get top workers for a little less money. They can only work for us when they between their big paying jobs. That’s also why it taking us so long.

  “Anyway, Smiley tell me a couple fellas can help with wiring next week. Once we get the walls and cabinets in, we’ll be laying tile. I already got ‘em in the shed. The tiles I mean. Your Mama, when she found the kind she wanted, she put ‘em on layaway. They got all paid for just this week. Ain’t that something? Now we got money to pay Smiley and his crew. Your mama say it’s a God thing.”

  “Yeah, Dad. She’s big on giving God credit for everything. Say, isn’t that our turn up there? The traffic’s slowing down, and they all got their blinkers on.”

  “Thanks, Son. You can relax. We still gonna be here awhile. They gonna flag us into parking places so folks come in organized. But you keep a watch out, hear?”

  “Okay. And Dad, if you want, I can drive Mom up to Zion’s Hill tomorrow. Thia wants to go, too. Melvin may not be coming to pick her up. I doubt she’s forgiven Melvin for standing her up Thursday. She’s going make him suffer a few more days.”

  “That Thia. I don’t know why Melvin put up with her. You know what he did for her?

  “No, I bet it cost him some big brass, didn’t it?”

  “You bet it did. You watching for the guy with the flag? “

  “Yeah, Dad. I can watch and listen at the same time. I’m a college student now,” Ken teases.

  “Okay, just checking. You remember, Thia was working for that clothing store downtown. Well, her boss, she really was impressed with Thia. You know how Thia likes pulling outfits together. Well, she was selling up lots of customers, suggesting accessories and things. She do it so much that Thia’s boss, she had a contest for the clerks. Whoever got the best sales for four months got to go with her on a buying trip to New York. All expenses paid.”

  “That probably stoked Thia. She’d do most anything
to get to shop in New York.”

  “It did and she won the contest, too. They was flying on a plane to New York City! But was she satisfied with coach seats? Not Thia. She kept commenting, in Melvin’s hearing, of course, how it sure would be nice to fly first class. He must have done something to upset her and needed to get out of the dog house. For her birthday, he got her a upgrade ticket for first class!”

  “I can just see Thia. Ecstatic and rocking the trailer with that news!”

  “Yeah. Going first class meant she got to dress up special! Her and your mama had them a time deciding just what outfit to wear to fly to New York first class on that buying trip with her boss.”

  “That’s why Thia’s so spoiled, Dad. You and Mom let her get everything she wants. And now Melvin’s falling right in line. I never got the stuff she gets.”

  “Ken, you a man. Men don’t need all that folderol. You know we been trying to finish this house ever since you was in high school. We just never had much extra to do stuff for you,” he huffs, a little insulted at the lack of appreciation he senses in Ken’s comments.

  “Anyway, did you ever want for anything you ever needed? Huh? Tell me that. You always had a roof over your head and food to eat. Not always as much space or as much meat as you wanted, but you always had enough.”

  “Aw, Dad. I’m not complaining about you,” Ken replies, pouring oil on the troubled waters. “I’m talking about Thia. She’s a spoiled little princess.”

  From the corner of his eye, Ken notices Dad nodding in agreement. Ken concedes, “I don’t mind really. I know she’s an earnest worker. I know she earned that trip with hard work. Now she’s working on Melvin!” Ken laughs to lighten the mood a bit.

  He and his step-dad don’t often have time for father and son outings like this. Ken doesn’t want to ruin it by verbalizing jealousy about Thia, who seems to get so much of what she wants. His parents are even going to pay for her schooling, but not his.