Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One Sunday morning the Pastor of the church, Henry O’Donnell, was shaken awake by his daughter, Katie. “Dad, wake up!” Katie said. “It’s after eight.”
Henry blinked at his alarm clock, trying to get the digital numbers to focus. It said 7:03. “It’s seven,” he mumbled. “I have half an hour until my alarm goes off.”
“Did you forget Daylight Savings Time?” Katie asked.
Henry has not, in fact, forgotten Daylight Savings Time. The night before he’d changed every clock in the house save the one on his night stand which he figured he would reset just before he went to bed. But he’d stayed up late watching a movie and when he finally stumbled bleary-eyed up to his bedroom, he had forgotten that final, all-important clock. His wife Jennifer was on a business trip so she hadn’t been there to remind him, either. The shot of adrenalin as Henry realized all this brought him fully awake.
The first service of the morning started at 9:00. Henry knew from experience that the latest he dare leave his house was 8:30 a.m. That gave him twenty-seven minutes. Actually twenty-six. He’d used up one precious minute making those calculations.
Henry pulled on a clean white shirt and slacks. Having less than half an hour to get ready meant he had to set priorities. For Henry, breakfast was a priority. He could skip his shower, forget about the paper, but he was not a man who allowed himself to miss meals.
Henry elected for the quickest breakfast he knew how to make: toaster waffles. He wolfed down four with a glass of orange juice and cup of coffee.
Katie looked up over the comics section of the paper as Henry shoved the last enormous forkful of waffle in his mouth. “You’ve got syrup on your shirt,” she informed him.
Henry dashed upstairs to change his shirt.
The time was 8:22. Henry continued his mental prioritizing. Forget brushing his teeth – he had mints in his glove compartment. But he had to shave. He might get away with one day’s growth, but he’d last applied his razor to his dark beard on Thursday, the day his wife had left for her business trip. He could imagine the disapproving looks he’d receive from certain ladies of the church if he showed up sporting a three-day stubble.
In his haste, he dripped a dollop of shaving gel on the fresh shirt. Using language that would have made the ladies at church gasp even more than the sight of an unshaven pastor, he soaked a washcloth and dabbed at the spot. The small seed of gel bloomed into a large blotch of greenish foam. Henry’s rubbing was only expanding the area affected so he pulled off the shirt and got another clean one – wisely waiting until after he finished shaving.
At 8:27 Henry was filling up a travel mug of coffee and thanking Katie profusely for brewing it that morning. And then the cup slipped out of his hand, bouncing on the counter and splattering his shirt.
He was out of clean dress shirts but found one in the hamper that appeared relatively fresh to the eye if not exactly to the nose. At 8:30 he was pulling out of the driveway and resisting the urge to inform Katie that her coffee was a little on the strong side.
He made it to church at 8:54, much to the relief of choir director Shane Reed and church secretary Tammy Billings.
After church, Henry dropped Katie off at the movies to meet a couple of her friends. He then went through a fast food drive-through to get lunch. “Whew,” he thought, “thank heavens that’s over!” He ate in the car, dripping ketchup on his shirt, then drove out to the airport to pick up his wife.
He was an hour late. He’d forgotten to reset his car’s dashboard clock for daylight saving’s time.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Cranky
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. As winter lurched toward spring with considerable backsliding, a rainstorm moved into town one Tuesday in late February. Church secretary Tammy Billings, normally an upbeat and optimistic person, hated rain. It put her in an inexplicably foul mood.
Her husband Ralph knew this about her, of course, and had long ago given up trying to brighten her spirits on such days. As he drove her to the church that morning he was careful not to say anything that might unleash her ill temper. Which meant they didn’t speak at all during the drive.
When he dropped her off, he reminded her that he’d be picking her up for their weekly lunch date at noon. Even that simple sentence resulted in a tirade to the effect that yes, Tammy was smart enough to know it was Tuesday and she did remember that they had lunch together every Tuesday for the last six years. Ralph was rather relieved when she slammed the car door.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell didn’t particularly love or despise rainy days, but on this particular day he was in an excellent mood. That morning he’d found a small game as a prize in his cereal box, the kind with a little ball that you had to roll through a maze without letting it fall into any of several holes. He derived great joy from such simple treasures.
Unlike Ralph, Pastor O’Donnell had not learned to avoid unnecessary interactions with Tammy on rainy days. He’d known her long enough to recognize the impact precipitation had on her spirits but he stubbornly believed he had the power to cheer her up despite all the historical evidence to the contrary.
He thought perhaps his good mood would rub off on her over the course of their day, but in fact quite the opposite proved to be true. By mid-morning all memory of the little cereal box game had been erased and he was stomping around snapping at anyone who crossed his path.
And then the light in his office burned out.
“Tammy!” he bellowed. “My light just burned out. Can you go get me another bulb?”
“Why? Are you stuck in a bear trap or something?” she shot back.
“No. But I’m right in the middle of doing my status report for the district.”
“Well you certainly can’t work on it while your light’s burned out so you might as well go get the bulb yourself.”
Henry grumbled under his breath the entire way to the supply closet. His grumbling rose several levels above his breath when he discovered they were out of the specific kind of halogen bulb his light required.
“We’re out,” he informed Tammy upon his return.
“Tragic,” she replied.
“Would you go out and buy me another with petty cash?”
“Ralph has the car today.”
“There’s a hardware store right across the street.”
“A nice stroll will do you good.”
Henry gave up. “It’s the middle of the day. I can work without a light,” he snapped.
Though it was the middle of the day, the heavy overcast meant only a gloomy gray glow penetrated the two windows of his office. He could use his computer without much trouble, but he was working from printed records and he found he had to hold them inches in front of his face to read the type.
“Having difficulty?” Tammy asked.
Henry looked up over the paper he had pressed to his nose. Tammy was standing in his door with an armload of files. “Not at all,” he replied.
Tammy smirked and went to the filing cabinets that were opposite the windows in his office. Unfortunately for her, the lack of light also made it extremely hard to read the file labels.
“Having difficulty?” Henry asked.
Tammy realized she was bent half over squinting at the labels. “Not at all,” she replied.
They went on like that for several more minutes, neither wanting to admit the lack of light was troubling them. Finally Henry could take it no more. But he did not want to give Tammy the satisfaction of winning their passive aggressive battle.
He claimed he was heading to the bathroom but in reality he planned to sneak over to the hardware store. He figured he could claim he found a spare bulb pushed into the back of the supply closet while he was getting a refill for the paper towel dispenser.
Meanwhile, Tammy was losing patience with the inefficiencies of filing blind. But she didn’t want to give Henry the satisfaction of seeing her give up, either. So she crafted a plan nearly identical to his. She would sneak out the back door and go across to the hardware store. She could claim the bulb was actually in the supply cabinet all along and the pastor simply hadn’t looked hard enough.
Henry grabbed a hooded jacket from the lost and found and went out the main entrance. As he stomped down the short staircase, he slipped on the last wet step and stumbled forward. His left foot landed smack in the middle of a deep puddle. Immediately he felt icy water seep in and soak his sock. He hopped back only to plant his right foot in another puddle.
“Great,” Henry thought, “Just great. Stupid rain.” He tromped down the path, not bothering to avoid the puddles anymore since his feet were already wet. In fact, as he went, he made it a point to splash into every puddle no matter how small. “There, does that make you happy?” he shouted at the muddy water.
About that moment Tammy trudged around the side of the church huddled under an umbrella someone had left in the social hall and discovered Henry jumping up and down in the puddles like a five year-old, water splattering everywhere and soaking his pant legs.
Tammy began to laugh.
She laughed deep belly laughs. She was so consumed by the laughter she let the umbrella fall to her side, completely ignoring the drizzle that dampened her hair.
Henry, startled, stopped his prancing. He stared at her for a few seconds then began to laugh himself. He wasn’t even sure why. When Tammy was finally able to speak again, she gasped out, “What in the world are you doing?”
“I…” Henry started to say. Then he just shrugged. This sent Tammy into another fit of laughter. Henry was heartened by this and did a little jig in the largest puddle. He hooked Tammy’s arm in his and spun her around. She was laughing so hard tears were mixing with the rain rolling down her cheeks.
When Ralph pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later to pick his wife up for their lunch date, he was shocked to see her dancing in the rain with Pastor O’Donnell, their soaked hair pasted against their foreheads, kicking water at each other.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” he said. “The rain has finally made my wife completely bonkers.” He couldn’t imagine what Pastor O’Donnell’s excuse was.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. As winter lurched toward spring with considerable backsliding, a rainstorm moved into town one Tuesday in late February. Church secretary Tammy Billings, normally an upbeat and optimistic person, hated rain. It put her in an inexplicably foul mood.
Her husband Ralph knew this about her, of course, and had long ago given up trying to brighten her spirits on such days. As he drove her to the church that morning he was careful not to say anything that might unleash her ill temper. Which meant they didn’t speak at all during the drive.
When he dropped her off, he reminded her that he’d be picking her up for their weekly lunch date at noon. Even that simple sentence resulted in a tirade to the effect that yes, Tammy was smart enough to know it was Tuesday and she did remember that they had lunch together every Tuesday for the last six years. Ralph was rather relieved when she slammed the car door.
Pastor Henry O’Donnell didn’t particularly love or despise rainy days, but on this particular day he was in an excellent mood. That morning he’d found a small game as a prize in his cereal box, the kind with a little ball that you had to roll through a maze without letting it fall into any of several holes. He derived great joy from such simple treasures.
Unlike Ralph, Pastor O’Donnell had not learned to avoid unnecessary interactions with Tammy on rainy days. He’d known her long enough to recognize the impact precipitation had on her spirits but he stubbornly believed he had the power to cheer her up despite all the historical evidence to the contrary.
He thought perhaps his good mood would rub off on her over the course of their day, but in fact quite the opposite proved to be true. By mid-morning all memory of the little cereal box game had been erased and he was stomping around snapping at anyone who crossed his path.
And then the light in his office burned out.
“Tammy!” he bellowed. “My light just burned out. Can you go get me another bulb?”
“Why? Are you stuck in a bear trap or something?” she shot back.
“No. But I’m right in the middle of doing my status report for the district.”
“Well you certainly can’t work on it while your light’s burned out so you might as well go get the bulb yourself.”
Henry grumbled under his breath the entire way to the supply closet. His grumbling rose several levels above his breath when he discovered they were out of the specific kind of halogen bulb his light required.
“We’re out,” he informed Tammy upon his return.
“Tragic,” she replied.
“Would you go out and buy me another with petty cash?”
“Ralph has the car today.”
“There’s a hardware store right across the street.”
“A nice stroll will do you good.”
Henry gave up. “It’s the middle of the day. I can work without a light,” he snapped.
Though it was the middle of the day, the heavy overcast meant only a gloomy gray glow penetrated the two windows of his office. He could use his computer without much trouble, but he was working from printed records and he found he had to hold them inches in front of his face to read the type.
“Having difficulty?” Tammy asked.
Henry looked up over the paper he had pressed to his nose. Tammy was standing in his door with an armload of files. “Not at all,” he replied.
Tammy smirked and went to the filing cabinets that were opposite the windows in his office. Unfortunately for her, the lack of light also made it extremely hard to read the file labels.
“Having difficulty?” Henry asked.
Tammy realized she was bent half over squinting at the labels. “Not at all,” she replied.
They went on like that for several more minutes, neither wanting to admit the lack of light was troubling them. Finally Henry could take it no more. But he did not want to give Tammy the satisfaction of winning their passive aggressive battle.
He claimed he was heading to the bathroom but in reality he planned to sneak over to the hardware store. He figured he could claim he found a spare bulb pushed into the back of the supply closet while he was getting a refill for the paper towel dispenser.
Meanwhile, Tammy was losing patience with the inefficiencies of filing blind. But she didn’t want to give Henry the satisfaction of seeing her give up, either. So she crafted a plan nearly identical to his. She would sneak out the back door and go across to the hardware store. She could claim the bulb was actually in the supply cabinet all along and the pastor simply hadn’t looked hard enough.
Henry grabbed a hooded jacket from the lost and found and went out the main entrance. As he stomped down the short staircase, he slipped on the last wet step and stumbled forward. His left foot landed smack in the middle of a deep puddle. Immediately he felt icy water seep in and soak his sock. He hopped back only to plant his right foot in another puddle.
“Great,” Henry thought, “Just great. Stupid rain.” He tromped down the path, not bothering to avoid the puddles anymore since his feet were already wet. In fact, as he went, he made it a point to splash into every puddle no matter how small. “There, does that make you happy?” he shouted at the muddy water.
About that moment Tammy trudged around the side of the church huddled under an umbrella someone had left in the social hall and discovered Henry jumping up and down in the puddles like a five year-old, water splattering everywhere and soaking his pant legs.
Tammy began to laugh.
She laughed deep belly laughs. She was so consumed by the laughter she let the umbrella fall to her side, completely ignoring the drizzle that dampened her hair.
Henry, startled, stopped his prancing. He stared at her for a few seconds then began to laugh himself. He wasn’t even sure why. When Tammy was finally able to speak again, she gasped out, “What in the world are you doing?”
“I…” Henry started to say. Then he just shrugged. This sent Tammy into another fit of laughter. Henry was heartened by this and did a little jig in the largest puddle. He hooked Tammy’s arm in his and spun her around. She was laughing so hard tears were mixing with the rain rolling down her cheeks.
When Ralph pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later to pick his wife up for their lunch date, he was shocked to see her dancing in the rain with Pastor O’Donnell, their soaked hair pasted against their foreheads, kicking water at each other.
“Well, I guess that’s that,” he said. “The rain has finally made my wife completely bonkers.” He couldn’t imagine what Pastor O’Donnell’s excuse was.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Investment - Part Two
(If you missed part one, it is available below this story on the blog)
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently, a con man who called himself Gerald Huntsman III came to the church. Gerald claimed to be an investment manager who had come to Normal on behalf of a group of venture capitalists to organize financing for a start-up that owned the rights to a mysterious new technology which Gerald described in a flurry of meaningless terminology.
This mission was supposedly top secret, of course, but Del Winslow, a member of the church choir, and Pastor Henry O’Donnell had managed to weasel the details out of Gerald with surprisingly little effort one evening over a game of pool in Del’s rec room. Del, sensing an opportunity, begged Gerald to allow him to invest his life savings in the venture. Pastor O’Donnell wanted to invest as well, but his naturally skeptical wife Jennifer wouldn’t hear of it. Gerald finally relented and allowed Del to invest, admonishing everyone present that evening to keep the matter completely confidential.
Which is why Del was nearly apoplectic when he cornered the pastor during coffee hour the following Sunday.
“In the last twenty minutes five different people have told me about Gerald’s secret investment opportunity!” Del hissed. “Did you tell anyone?”
“No, of course not,” Henry said. “Well, Tammy. And Shane. And I might have mentioned something to Walter. But I swore all of them to absolute secrecy.”
Del buried his head in his hands. He felt like crying. “What will Gerald say? You might have jeopardized the whole thing!”
Gerald, of course, would have thanked the pastor. He was counting on the “secret” getting out. Every time someone approached him at coffee hour with that conspiratorial look in their eyes he knew he was about to make more money.
Meanwhile, Gerald had been charming a trio of older women from the church – Henrietta Miggins, Celia Simmons and Betsy Davis. He had become a regular at their Sunday afternoon tea, much to Celia and Betsy’s delight and Henrietta’s consternation. However, over a three week period he had also fixed Henrietta’s toilet, dragged some large furniture items down from her attic and shoveled her walkway several times – not to mention countless smaller chores like changing light bulbs and taking out the trash. So Henrietta tolerated the temporary male intrusion into the previously all-girl teas.
During that Sunday afternoon’s tea, after they’d gone through the routine criticism of the café’s scones which somehow still never went uneaten, Betsy said, “Gerald, I understand you’re handling some investments for members of the church.”
“Why yes,” Gerald replied. “A few of the nice folks here have asked to buy into the start-up for which I’m arranging financing. Why? Were you interested in investing?”
“Is it a sound investment,” Betsy asked.
“I think so,” Gerald replied. “In fact, I’ve put a good deal of my own money in it.”
“Well, if you’re that confident then it certainly must be worthwhile.”
“I would be delighted to include you,” Gerald said, then looked over at Celia. “How about you, Celia? Would you care to invest?”
Celia shook her head. “My son handles all my money,” she said.
“I see. And you?” Gerald asked Henrietta. From his time in her house doing odd jobs he knew the old bag was loaded. He was determined to get some reward for all the work he’d put in.
“Hm. I’ll think about it.” She said. “But I don’t believe this is an appropriate topic of discussion for tea. If I may change the subject, you won’t believe what I found when I went into the garage this morning. My Ford has two flat tires!”
“You never drive that thing anyway,” Celia snorted.
“Whether I drive it or not I like to keep it in good working order. I’m not operating a junk yard.”
“Would you like me to come over this evening and fix the tires?” Gerald asked.
“That would be very kind,” Henrietta replied. “Thank you. And while you’re there, perhaps you could help me change the filter on my central heat. It would give us a chance to talk more about this business venture of yours.”
“I’d be delighted,” Gerald said.
As Gerald gradually secured interest from two dozen members of the congregation, he gave each of them paperwork to look over and asked them to return it along with cashier’s checks on the final Sunday of the month. He warned them that in good conscious he couldn’t accept any money they couldn’t afford to lose. Which only caused everyone to promise an even larger investment.
Pastor O’Donnell was feeling pretty miserable as he watched Gerald collect paperwork and checks from a quarter of the congregation during coffee hour that final Sunday of the month. He tried once more to convince Jennifer to let him invest a few thousand dollars, offering to spend the proceeds on a luxurious vacation in Hawaii which he pitched to her as a second honeymoon, though in his mind it would be a golf getaway. Jennifer cut him off by pointing out that their bank was closed on Sundays so he couldn’t get a cashier’s check even if she relented.
The pastor tried to console himself with a brownie and the idea that the church offering plates would be well filled once his flock became incredibly wealthy. But it wasn’t much consolation.
Gerald, on the other hand, was feeling pretty good as he put the checks and paperwork into his briefcase. The checks were going into a private bank account and the paperwork was going into the trash. In three weeks Gerald would be long gone and the bank account closed.
He was a little annoyed to find that Henrietta was absent from church that day. After all the time he’d put in he felt she would have been good for at least a few grand.
Then Betsy walked up and handed him her paperwork and check. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m very excited to be a part of this.”
Gerald gave her a big, warm smile. It was only his years of con man experience that allowed him to maintain the smile when he looked down and discovered the check was for $100.
Gerald hadn’t done as well as he’d hoped, but he had still taken in over $200,000 by the time he said his goodbyes and made his way toward the door. That would be enough to lie low for at least a year before he had to find another church full of nice, naïve folks.
That’s when his plan went completely awry.
When he stepped outside he found a dozen policemen arrayed around the building. Henrietta Miggins was standing next to the commanding officer.
Within a few minutes the whole congregation had spilled out into the parking lot. “What’s going on?” Del bellowed as the police handcuffed Gerald and eased him into the back of a squad car.
“That man’s a con artist,” Henrietta said. I did a search for his company online and got all kinds of warnings. There are seven warrants out for his arrest. The police were very interested to hear from me.”
Del huffed and sputtered and wondered why he hadn’t bothered to check Gerald out online himself. He tried very hard not to think about how long he’d worked to save up the money he had intended to bet on the phony investment.
The congregation erupted in a panic of accusation, confusion and gossip. In the middle of the chaos, Pastor O’Donnell crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “I knew it,” he said. “His whole pitch never sounded quite right to me.” Jennifer O’Donnell, who was standing next to him, just rolled her eyes and went back inside.
And Henrietta was happy to realize that her tea would be free of any masculine intrusion that afternoon.
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently, a con man who called himself Gerald Huntsman III came to the church. Gerald claimed to be an investment manager who had come to Normal on behalf of a group of venture capitalists to organize financing for a start-up that owned the rights to a mysterious new technology which Gerald described in a flurry of meaningless terminology.
This mission was supposedly top secret, of course, but Del Winslow, a member of the church choir, and Pastor Henry O’Donnell had managed to weasel the details out of Gerald with surprisingly little effort one evening over a game of pool in Del’s rec room. Del, sensing an opportunity, begged Gerald to allow him to invest his life savings in the venture. Pastor O’Donnell wanted to invest as well, but his naturally skeptical wife Jennifer wouldn’t hear of it. Gerald finally relented and allowed Del to invest, admonishing everyone present that evening to keep the matter completely confidential.
Which is why Del was nearly apoplectic when he cornered the pastor during coffee hour the following Sunday.
“In the last twenty minutes five different people have told me about Gerald’s secret investment opportunity!” Del hissed. “Did you tell anyone?”
“No, of course not,” Henry said. “Well, Tammy. And Shane. And I might have mentioned something to Walter. But I swore all of them to absolute secrecy.”
Del buried his head in his hands. He felt like crying. “What will Gerald say? You might have jeopardized the whole thing!”
Gerald, of course, would have thanked the pastor. He was counting on the “secret” getting out. Every time someone approached him at coffee hour with that conspiratorial look in their eyes he knew he was about to make more money.
Meanwhile, Gerald had been charming a trio of older women from the church – Henrietta Miggins, Celia Simmons and Betsy Davis. He had become a regular at their Sunday afternoon tea, much to Celia and Betsy’s delight and Henrietta’s consternation. However, over a three week period he had also fixed Henrietta’s toilet, dragged some large furniture items down from her attic and shoveled her walkway several times – not to mention countless smaller chores like changing light bulbs and taking out the trash. So Henrietta tolerated the temporary male intrusion into the previously all-girl teas.
During that Sunday afternoon’s tea, after they’d gone through the routine criticism of the café’s scones which somehow still never went uneaten, Betsy said, “Gerald, I understand you’re handling some investments for members of the church.”
“Why yes,” Gerald replied. “A few of the nice folks here have asked to buy into the start-up for which I’m arranging financing. Why? Were you interested in investing?”
“Is it a sound investment,” Betsy asked.
“I think so,” Gerald replied. “In fact, I’ve put a good deal of my own money in it.”
“Well, if you’re that confident then it certainly must be worthwhile.”
“I would be delighted to include you,” Gerald said, then looked over at Celia. “How about you, Celia? Would you care to invest?”
Celia shook her head. “My son handles all my money,” she said.
“I see. And you?” Gerald asked Henrietta. From his time in her house doing odd jobs he knew the old bag was loaded. He was determined to get some reward for all the work he’d put in.
“Hm. I’ll think about it.” She said. “But I don’t believe this is an appropriate topic of discussion for tea. If I may change the subject, you won’t believe what I found when I went into the garage this morning. My Ford has two flat tires!”
“You never drive that thing anyway,” Celia snorted.
“Whether I drive it or not I like to keep it in good working order. I’m not operating a junk yard.”
“Would you like me to come over this evening and fix the tires?” Gerald asked.
“That would be very kind,” Henrietta replied. “Thank you. And while you’re there, perhaps you could help me change the filter on my central heat. It would give us a chance to talk more about this business venture of yours.”
“I’d be delighted,” Gerald said.
As Gerald gradually secured interest from two dozen members of the congregation, he gave each of them paperwork to look over and asked them to return it along with cashier’s checks on the final Sunday of the month. He warned them that in good conscious he couldn’t accept any money they couldn’t afford to lose. Which only caused everyone to promise an even larger investment.
Pastor O’Donnell was feeling pretty miserable as he watched Gerald collect paperwork and checks from a quarter of the congregation during coffee hour that final Sunday of the month. He tried once more to convince Jennifer to let him invest a few thousand dollars, offering to spend the proceeds on a luxurious vacation in Hawaii which he pitched to her as a second honeymoon, though in his mind it would be a golf getaway. Jennifer cut him off by pointing out that their bank was closed on Sundays so he couldn’t get a cashier’s check even if she relented.
The pastor tried to console himself with a brownie and the idea that the church offering plates would be well filled once his flock became incredibly wealthy. But it wasn’t much consolation.
Gerald, on the other hand, was feeling pretty good as he put the checks and paperwork into his briefcase. The checks were going into a private bank account and the paperwork was going into the trash. In three weeks Gerald would be long gone and the bank account closed.
He was a little annoyed to find that Henrietta was absent from church that day. After all the time he’d put in he felt she would have been good for at least a few grand.
Then Betsy walked up and handed him her paperwork and check. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m very excited to be a part of this.”
Gerald gave her a big, warm smile. It was only his years of con man experience that allowed him to maintain the smile when he looked down and discovered the check was for $100.
Gerald hadn’t done as well as he’d hoped, but he had still taken in over $200,000 by the time he said his goodbyes and made his way toward the door. That would be enough to lie low for at least a year before he had to find another church full of nice, naïve folks.
That’s when his plan went completely awry.
When he stepped outside he found a dozen policemen arrayed around the building. Henrietta Miggins was standing next to the commanding officer.
Within a few minutes the whole congregation had spilled out into the parking lot. “What’s going on?” Del bellowed as the police handcuffed Gerald and eased him into the back of a squad car.
“That man’s a con artist,” Henrietta said. I did a search for his company online and got all kinds of warnings. There are seven warrants out for his arrest. The police were very interested to hear from me.”
Del huffed and sputtered and wondered why he hadn’t bothered to check Gerald out online himself. He tried very hard not to think about how long he’d worked to save up the money he had intended to bet on the phony investment.
The congregation erupted in a panic of accusation, confusion and gossip. In the middle of the chaos, Pastor O’Donnell crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “I knew it,” he said. “His whole pitch never sounded quite right to me.” Jennifer O’Donnell, who was standing next to him, just rolled her eyes and went back inside.
And Henrietta was happy to realize that her tea would be free of any masculine intrusion that afternoon.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Investment - Part One
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently, a con man came to the church. The con man’s name was Gerald Huntsman III. It wasn’t his real name, of course, but it was how he introduced himself at coffee hour that first Sunday. “I find the ‘third’ at the end of my name a bit pretentious,” he told everyone. “So you can just call me Gerald.”
The so-called Gerald Huntsman III was a short man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair and just enough of a paunch to appear truly ordinary. He wore brown leather loafers and a brown belt that didn’t quite match. He also wore a gold watch that looked quite expensive as long as you weren’t in the watch appraisal business.
Gerald often found his marks at churches. People trusted folks they met at church…as long as they didn’t know them very well. And the congregation of this little church was quite warm and friendly. When Gerald, in an upbeat voice, described the dreary, lonely hotel room he was staying in, he immediately received an invitation for dinner at Del and Karen Winslow’s house for that Thursday evening.
Thanks to a fortuitously overheard conversation shortly thereafter, Gerald learned that a group of the older women at the church consisting of Henrietta Miggins, Betsy Davis and Celia Simmons had tea every Sunday afternoon at a little café. That afternoon Gerald just happened to drop in at the same café. He went over to the women’s table and greeted them, expressing his amazement at the odd coincidence of the encounter.
Upon learning Gerald was alone, Betsy, a gracious Southerner, invited him to join them. Henrietta frowned, certain this strange man would ruin their afternoon, but refrained from commenting on that belief in his presence.
Over the next hour Gerald charmed Betsy with his gentlemanly manners and flirted shamelessly with Celia, a proud, seventy-three year-old African-American woman. The only one he couldn’t seem to win over was Henrietta. He thought he might have found his in when the conversation turned to the troublesome plumbing in Henrietta’s upstairs bathroom.
“I used to work for a plumber,” Gerald said. “Perhaps I could be of service.”
Gerald had indeed worked for a plumber for several months, embezzling the poor fellow out of several tens of thousands of dollars. But he had picked up a few tricks of the trade as well, one of which proved useful when he went by Henrietta’s house the following evening. He quickly solved the problem of her running toilet. He also managed to ascertain that Henrietta was quite well off.
He volunteered to help with many other chores for her over the following weeks.
But before that came dinner with the Winslows. Del had also invited Pastor O’Donnell and his wife Jennifer. Karen Winslow made a lovely pot roast which was the best meal Gerald had eaten in several years – at least if his compliments were to be believed. In truth, Gerald was so accustomed to giving false compliments he wasn’t even sure himself whether he actually liked the dinner or not.
Afterwards, the group retreated to Del’s basement game room to play some pool. Karen would have preferred to have tea with Jennifer in the living room, but Jennifer’s father had owned a pool table and she was delighted at the prospect of a game. As Karen watched and Jennifer methodically slaughtered the men, Del’s curiosity got the better of him and he worked the conversation around to Gerald’s business in Normal.
“Well, I suppose I can trust you folks to keep a secret,” Gerald said. “After all if I can’t trust people from church, who can I trust, right? I’m handling an investment pool for a group of venture capitalists. We’re funding a company that’s acquired rights to a patent on a new wireless social networking interface application. It’s already been released in Norway and reached 85% penetration in only eighteen months.”
Del and O’Donnell nodded in unison. Neither quite understood what Gerald was saying but it sure sounded impressive.
“You know,” Del mused, “I have a little bit of a nest egg just sitting in a money market account. I’ve been thinking about moving it into something more aggressive. Is there any chance I could get in on this?”
Gerald pondered. “Well, the fund’s fully subscribed. I might be able to work some things around, increase the shares. But there’s a half million dollar minimum.”
“Oh,” Del said, his face falling. “I don’t have that much.”
They each took a few more shots. Del seemed distracted and scratched when it was his turn. Finally he broached the subject again. “If I came up with $100,000 do you think there’s any way you could make an exception?”
Gerald frowned and furrowed his brow. “Well…” he finally said, “I’ll probably take some heat, but hey, you seem like such a great guy and you’ve made me feel so welcome I guess I owe you one.”
Del beamed. “Excellent!” he said.
Gerald looked over at Henry. “How about you, pastor?”
Pastor O’Donnell’s face reddened. “That’s a little out of my league.”
“What league are we talking about?” Gerald asked. “I could always merge your investment with Del’s in a side fund.”
“I might be able to scrounge together something like $10,000.”
“I could work with that,” Gerald said.
Jennifer took a shot, hitting the cue ball extra hard so it cracked loudly off its target.
“What do you think, honey?” Henry said, having gotten his wife’s hint.
“We should discuss it when we get home” Jennifer replied. Everybody in the room except the pastor knew at that moment that the O’Donnells would not, in fact, be investing in Gerald’s fund.
“Okay,” Gerald said. “But let’s keep this absolutely secret. I don’t want to be bombarded with a bunch of people begging to get a piece of the action.”
Which of course is exactly what happened the following Sunday…just like Gerald had planned.
(To be continued in two weeks)
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Recently, a con man came to the church. The con man’s name was Gerald Huntsman III. It wasn’t his real name, of course, but it was how he introduced himself at coffee hour that first Sunday. “I find the ‘third’ at the end of my name a bit pretentious,” he told everyone. “So you can just call me Gerald.”
The so-called Gerald Huntsman III was a short man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair and just enough of a paunch to appear truly ordinary. He wore brown leather loafers and a brown belt that didn’t quite match. He also wore a gold watch that looked quite expensive as long as you weren’t in the watch appraisal business.
Gerald often found his marks at churches. People trusted folks they met at church…as long as they didn’t know them very well. And the congregation of this little church was quite warm and friendly. When Gerald, in an upbeat voice, described the dreary, lonely hotel room he was staying in, he immediately received an invitation for dinner at Del and Karen Winslow’s house for that Thursday evening.
Thanks to a fortuitously overheard conversation shortly thereafter, Gerald learned that a group of the older women at the church consisting of Henrietta Miggins, Betsy Davis and Celia Simmons had tea every Sunday afternoon at a little café. That afternoon Gerald just happened to drop in at the same café. He went over to the women’s table and greeted them, expressing his amazement at the odd coincidence of the encounter.
Upon learning Gerald was alone, Betsy, a gracious Southerner, invited him to join them. Henrietta frowned, certain this strange man would ruin their afternoon, but refrained from commenting on that belief in his presence.
Over the next hour Gerald charmed Betsy with his gentlemanly manners and flirted shamelessly with Celia, a proud, seventy-three year-old African-American woman. The only one he couldn’t seem to win over was Henrietta. He thought he might have found his in when the conversation turned to the troublesome plumbing in Henrietta’s upstairs bathroom.
“I used to work for a plumber,” Gerald said. “Perhaps I could be of service.”
Gerald had indeed worked for a plumber for several months, embezzling the poor fellow out of several tens of thousands of dollars. But he had picked up a few tricks of the trade as well, one of which proved useful when he went by Henrietta’s house the following evening. He quickly solved the problem of her running toilet. He also managed to ascertain that Henrietta was quite well off.
He volunteered to help with many other chores for her over the following weeks.
But before that came dinner with the Winslows. Del had also invited Pastor O’Donnell and his wife Jennifer. Karen Winslow made a lovely pot roast which was the best meal Gerald had eaten in several years – at least if his compliments were to be believed. In truth, Gerald was so accustomed to giving false compliments he wasn’t even sure himself whether he actually liked the dinner or not.
Afterwards, the group retreated to Del’s basement game room to play some pool. Karen would have preferred to have tea with Jennifer in the living room, but Jennifer’s father had owned a pool table and she was delighted at the prospect of a game. As Karen watched and Jennifer methodically slaughtered the men, Del’s curiosity got the better of him and he worked the conversation around to Gerald’s business in Normal.
“Well, I suppose I can trust you folks to keep a secret,” Gerald said. “After all if I can’t trust people from church, who can I trust, right? I’m handling an investment pool for a group of venture capitalists. We’re funding a company that’s acquired rights to a patent on a new wireless social networking interface application. It’s already been released in Norway and reached 85% penetration in only eighteen months.”
Del and O’Donnell nodded in unison. Neither quite understood what Gerald was saying but it sure sounded impressive.
“You know,” Del mused, “I have a little bit of a nest egg just sitting in a money market account. I’ve been thinking about moving it into something more aggressive. Is there any chance I could get in on this?”
Gerald pondered. “Well, the fund’s fully subscribed. I might be able to work some things around, increase the shares. But there’s a half million dollar minimum.”
“Oh,” Del said, his face falling. “I don’t have that much.”
They each took a few more shots. Del seemed distracted and scratched when it was his turn. Finally he broached the subject again. “If I came up with $100,000 do you think there’s any way you could make an exception?”
Gerald frowned and furrowed his brow. “Well…” he finally said, “I’ll probably take some heat, but hey, you seem like such a great guy and you’ve made me feel so welcome I guess I owe you one.”
Del beamed. “Excellent!” he said.
Gerald looked over at Henry. “How about you, pastor?”
Pastor O’Donnell’s face reddened. “That’s a little out of my league.”
“What league are we talking about?” Gerald asked. “I could always merge your investment with Del’s in a side fund.”
“I might be able to scrounge together something like $10,000.”
“I could work with that,” Gerald said.
Jennifer took a shot, hitting the cue ball extra hard so it cracked loudly off its target.
“What do you think, honey?” Henry said, having gotten his wife’s hint.
“We should discuss it when we get home” Jennifer replied. Everybody in the room except the pastor knew at that moment that the O’Donnells would not, in fact, be investing in Gerald’s fund.
“Okay,” Gerald said. “But let’s keep this absolutely secret. I don’t want to be bombarded with a bunch of people begging to get a piece of the action.”
Which of course is exactly what happened the following Sunday…just like Gerald had planned.
(To be continued in two weeks)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Trustees
Hear the story read by the author.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One Sunday during coffee hour Pastor Henry O’Donnell approached Kevin Boyer to ask him to serve on the church board of trustees. The pastor explained that he liked to rotate new blood onto the decision making organs of the church from time to time to keep things fresh and involve the younger generation in leadership.
Kevin was reluctant. He told the pastor that he wasn’t sure if he had the time to give proper attention to such an important position (by which he really meant that he feared serving as a trustee might cut into his time watching football on TV or playing basketball with his friends on Sunday afternoons). Besides, Kevin added, he didn’t even really know what a trustee was.
“The trustees are responsible for the physical plant,” Pastor O’Donnell explained. “They approve repairs and improvements to the building, buying new furniture, that sort of thing. The church office handles all the actual contracting and so forth. The trustees simply oversee it. They meet every two months for an hour or so after church.”
Kevin hemmed and hawed but Pastor O’Donnell was persistent. Finally Kevin admitted that it sounded like something he could handle. “Good,” Pastor O’Donnell replied, slapping Kevin on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to enjoy it.” The pastor wasn’t above the occasional little white lie when recruiting church members to service.
A few minutes later 70 year-old Henrietta Miggins stomped over to Kevin. “So,” Henrietta said, “I hear Pastor O’Donnell put you on trustees. As chairwoman I need to explain a few things about your duties.”
Neglecting to mention that Henrietta was chair of trustees was another one of Pastor O’Donnell’s recruiting strategies.
“Our job is to make sure member’s tithes are wisely spent,” Henrietta continued. “There are people who would throw church money around like it has an expiration date. You wouldn’t believe the crazy stuff folks want to buy when they don’t have to pay for it out of their own pocket. This generation has no sense of thriftiness or responsibility. In my day people knew the value of the dollar. I expect you to show similar restraint. Do you understand me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Kevin said. He didn’t customarily use the word “ma’am” but somehow it seemed to fit Henrietta.
“Good.” Henrietta replied with a stern frown. “We’re meeting at noon next week. Be punctual.”
The following week, Del Winslow came up to Kevin in coffee hour and offered him a donut. “Just wanted to welcome the newest trustee,” Del said. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad. Just be careful not to get Ralph going on some long rant about healthy snacks at coffee hour.”
“Frankly, I’m still not quite sure what trustees do,” Kevin admitted as he bit into the jelly donut.
“It’s not hard,” Del told him. “For example, notice how the linoleum in here is chipped and peeling?” He gestured around the room. The floor was in pretty bad shape.
“Today we’re voting to replace it with a hard wood floor which, incidentally, will improve the acoustics dramatically. The choir performs in here from time to time, and let me tell you, it’s pretty awful.”
Kevin nodded sagely trying not to let on that he knew about as much about acoustics as he did the chemical composition of the soil on Venus.
“Mostly it’s pretty straightforward stuff like that. That old crow Henrietta Miggins throws a fit over every dime we spend but I just ignore her. It’s our job to keep this place in good order. We can’t have it falling down around us now, can we? Enjoy your donut.” Del clapped Kevin on the back and headed off to refill his coffee cup.
As Kevin dabbed at a jelly spot on his shirt with a napkin, his wife Jill returned from retrieving their two girls from Sunday school. She asked if he was ready for his first big trustees meeting.
“I guess,” Kevin said.
“Well, I’m proud of you,” Jill beamed. “Missy was just telling me how you guys are going to put hardwood flooring in here. That will be so pretty. I’ll take the girls to get some lunch and we’ll pick you up when you’re done.”
She kissed him and headed out. Then Ralph Billings came over. “How do you feel about the environment?” Ralph asked.
“I guess I’m for it,” Kevin said.
“Good. I’ve been trying to get the trustees to approve several green initiatives for the church. I hope I can count on your support.”
Kevin began to suspect he’d wandered into a minefield without being aware of it. As he considered how to reply, Henrietta Miggins called for them to come to the church office.
“Our first item on the agenda is the floor in the social hall,” Henrietta said once all seven committee members and Pastor O’Donnell were seated. “We have to make a decision today – replace the linoleum that has served us well for twenty years with newer linoleum or switch to more expensive hardwood flooring.”
Within seconds a heated debate had erupted. On the one hand Del Winslow, choir director Shane Reed and Missy Moore wanted hardwood flooring for its acoustic value and attractiveness.
Henrietta of course thought hardwood was far too extravagant. She was supported by Celia Simmons, a 73 year-old African American woman who was a member of the choir but shared Henrietta’s opinions on thrift.
When Ralph’s turn came to talk he said, “The choir always gets whatever it wants. I think we should put in linoleum and use the savings to buy energy efficient lighting.”
Pastor O’Donnell declined to take a side, reminding them that as clergy he was not technically a voting member of the committee.
Kevin discovered he was the swing vote. As the two sides lobbied him on their respective points of view, he tried to give Pastor O’Donnell a dirty look but the pastor’s attention seemed focused on his cuticles and he never met Kevin’s gaze.
Finally Kevin said he needed to use the restroom and beat a hasty retreat.
As he was returning, he encountered Jose, the church janitor, mopping the social hall. “Hi Jose,” Kevin said. “Hey, can I get your opinion on something? We’re going to replace this floor. Do you think hardwood or linoleum would be better.”
Jose pondered the question then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess linoleum. It lasts longer.”
Kevin thanked him and returned to the meeting. After another twenty minutes of debate, Henrietta called for a vote. It came around to Kevin tied 3-3. “Linoleum,” Kevin said. “It lasts longer.”
The hardwood camp groaned and protested but Henrietta declared the matter decided. Del glared at Kevin and he suspected he hadn’t heard the end of this subject. But for the moment he didn’t care. He was due at a basketball game with his friends.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One Sunday during coffee hour Pastor Henry O’Donnell approached Kevin Boyer to ask him to serve on the church board of trustees. The pastor explained that he liked to rotate new blood onto the decision making organs of the church from time to time to keep things fresh and involve the younger generation in leadership.
Kevin was reluctant. He told the pastor that he wasn’t sure if he had the time to give proper attention to such an important position (by which he really meant that he feared serving as a trustee might cut into his time watching football on TV or playing basketball with his friends on Sunday afternoons). Besides, Kevin added, he didn’t even really know what a trustee was.
“The trustees are responsible for the physical plant,” Pastor O’Donnell explained. “They approve repairs and improvements to the building, buying new furniture, that sort of thing. The church office handles all the actual contracting and so forth. The trustees simply oversee it. They meet every two months for an hour or so after church.”
Kevin hemmed and hawed but Pastor O’Donnell was persistent. Finally Kevin admitted that it sounded like something he could handle. “Good,” Pastor O’Donnell replied, slapping Kevin on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to enjoy it.” The pastor wasn’t above the occasional little white lie when recruiting church members to service.
A few minutes later 70 year-old Henrietta Miggins stomped over to Kevin. “So,” Henrietta said, “I hear Pastor O’Donnell put you on trustees. As chairwoman I need to explain a few things about your duties.”
Neglecting to mention that Henrietta was chair of trustees was another one of Pastor O’Donnell’s recruiting strategies.
“Our job is to make sure member’s tithes are wisely spent,” Henrietta continued. “There are people who would throw church money around like it has an expiration date. You wouldn’t believe the crazy stuff folks want to buy when they don’t have to pay for it out of their own pocket. This generation has no sense of thriftiness or responsibility. In my day people knew the value of the dollar. I expect you to show similar restraint. Do you understand me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Kevin said. He didn’t customarily use the word “ma’am” but somehow it seemed to fit Henrietta.
“Good.” Henrietta replied with a stern frown. “We’re meeting at noon next week. Be punctual.”
The following week, Del Winslow came up to Kevin in coffee hour and offered him a donut. “Just wanted to welcome the newest trustee,” Del said. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad. Just be careful not to get Ralph going on some long rant about healthy snacks at coffee hour.”
“Frankly, I’m still not quite sure what trustees do,” Kevin admitted as he bit into the jelly donut.
“It’s not hard,” Del told him. “For example, notice how the linoleum in here is chipped and peeling?” He gestured around the room. The floor was in pretty bad shape.
“Today we’re voting to replace it with a hard wood floor which, incidentally, will improve the acoustics dramatically. The choir performs in here from time to time, and let me tell you, it’s pretty awful.”
Kevin nodded sagely trying not to let on that he knew about as much about acoustics as he did the chemical composition of the soil on Venus.
“Mostly it’s pretty straightforward stuff like that. That old crow Henrietta Miggins throws a fit over every dime we spend but I just ignore her. It’s our job to keep this place in good order. We can’t have it falling down around us now, can we? Enjoy your donut.” Del clapped Kevin on the back and headed off to refill his coffee cup.
As Kevin dabbed at a jelly spot on his shirt with a napkin, his wife Jill returned from retrieving their two girls from Sunday school. She asked if he was ready for his first big trustees meeting.
“I guess,” Kevin said.
“Well, I’m proud of you,” Jill beamed. “Missy was just telling me how you guys are going to put hardwood flooring in here. That will be so pretty. I’ll take the girls to get some lunch and we’ll pick you up when you’re done.”
She kissed him and headed out. Then Ralph Billings came over. “How do you feel about the environment?” Ralph asked.
“I guess I’m for it,” Kevin said.
“Good. I’ve been trying to get the trustees to approve several green initiatives for the church. I hope I can count on your support.”
Kevin began to suspect he’d wandered into a minefield without being aware of it. As he considered how to reply, Henrietta Miggins called for them to come to the church office.
“Our first item on the agenda is the floor in the social hall,” Henrietta said once all seven committee members and Pastor O’Donnell were seated. “We have to make a decision today – replace the linoleum that has served us well for twenty years with newer linoleum or switch to more expensive hardwood flooring.”
Within seconds a heated debate had erupted. On the one hand Del Winslow, choir director Shane Reed and Missy Moore wanted hardwood flooring for its acoustic value and attractiveness.
Henrietta of course thought hardwood was far too extravagant. She was supported by Celia Simmons, a 73 year-old African American woman who was a member of the choir but shared Henrietta’s opinions on thrift.
When Ralph’s turn came to talk he said, “The choir always gets whatever it wants. I think we should put in linoleum and use the savings to buy energy efficient lighting.”
Pastor O’Donnell declined to take a side, reminding them that as clergy he was not technically a voting member of the committee.
Kevin discovered he was the swing vote. As the two sides lobbied him on their respective points of view, he tried to give Pastor O’Donnell a dirty look but the pastor’s attention seemed focused on his cuticles and he never met Kevin’s gaze.
Finally Kevin said he needed to use the restroom and beat a hasty retreat.
As he was returning, he encountered Jose, the church janitor, mopping the social hall. “Hi Jose,” Kevin said. “Hey, can I get your opinion on something? We’re going to replace this floor. Do you think hardwood or linoleum would be better.”
Jose pondered the question then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess linoleum. It lasts longer.”
Kevin thanked him and returned to the meeting. After another twenty minutes of debate, Henrietta called for a vote. It came around to Kevin tied 3-3. “Linoleum,” Kevin said. “It lasts longer.”
The hardwood camp groaned and protested but Henrietta declared the matter decided. Del glared at Kevin and he suspected he hadn’t heard the end of this subject. But for the moment he didn’t care. He was due at a basketball game with his friends.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Boxing Day
Hear the poem read by the author
‘Twas the day after Christmas
And in the little church
All the bats in the belfry
Were asleep on their perch.
Christmas Eve service had ended
Thirty hours before
But the ashes from the fire
Still dusted the floor.
Jose the janitor
Was on a vacation.
A perk from the church to show
Its appreciation
His rest and relaxation
Would have gone quite off track
If he knew the mess that awaited
Him when he got back.
Kevin Boyer was giving
His wife Jill a massage
And later that day planned to
Organize their garage.
It was penance for allowing
Their four-year-old, Mary,
To play with toys during church
And not staying wary.
And little Mary was grounded
Upstairs in her room,
With only twenty new presents
To lighten her gloom.
Poor Mary pouted and felt
Quite misunderstood.
Since it was her toy car with
The dent in the hood.
Pastor O’Donnell was home
Putting ice on his knee
Which was bruised and swollen
To an alarming degree
He twisted it badly while
Lighting a candle aglow
And tripped when a small car crashed
Straight into his toe.
Henrietta Miggins was
Writing a letter
Demanding the little church
Pay for her sweater.
Who would have guessed when she
Wore it that night
A flying candle would
Set it alight.
She added a paragraph of
Advice for the pastor
Suggesting some rules to avert
A future disaster.
The most important, she said,
Was perfectly clear
Toys should be banned from Christmas
Eve service next year.
Happy Boxing Day!
‘Twas the day after Christmas
And in the little church
All the bats in the belfry
Were asleep on their perch.
Christmas Eve service had ended
Thirty hours before
But the ashes from the fire
Still dusted the floor.
Jose the janitor
Was on a vacation.
A perk from the church to show
Its appreciation
His rest and relaxation
Would have gone quite off track
If he knew the mess that awaited
Him when he got back.
Kevin Boyer was giving
His wife Jill a massage
And later that day planned to
Organize their garage.
It was penance for allowing
Their four-year-old, Mary,
To play with toys during church
And not staying wary.
And little Mary was grounded
Upstairs in her room,
With only twenty new presents
To lighten her gloom.
Poor Mary pouted and felt
Quite misunderstood.
Since it was her toy car with
The dent in the hood.
Pastor O’Donnell was home
Putting ice on his knee
Which was bruised and swollen
To an alarming degree
He twisted it badly while
Lighting a candle aglow
And tripped when a small car crashed
Straight into his toe.
Henrietta Miggins was
Writing a letter
Demanding the little church
Pay for her sweater.
Who would have guessed when she
Wore it that night
A flying candle would
Set it alight.
She added a paragraph of
Advice for the pastor
Suggesting some rules to avert
A future disaster.
The most important, she said,
Was perfectly clear
Toys should be banned from Christmas
Eve service next year.
Happy Boxing Day!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Living Nativity
Hear the story read by the author
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, Pastor Henry O’Donnell decided it would be nifty to have a living nativity scene for the Christmas season. They would build a wooden stable on the front lawn and have volunteers pose as the nativity story characters for two hours each Sunday between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Pastor O’Donnell considered himself more of an idea man than an organizer so he assigned church secretary Tammy Billings to be in charge of the project. Fortunately for the pastor, Tammy loved to be in charge of things. First, she had her husband Ralph build the stable and manger. Ralph was quite handy and whipped up an impressive set in no time.
Tammy created a sign-up sheet and began trolling for volunteers during coffee hours in late November. She had convinced Pastor O’Donnell that having a real baby play Jesus would be unwise given the average December weather in Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that same weather seemed to be having a chilling effect on the adult population’s willingness to participate as well.
Tammy managed to convince the Boyer family to volunteer for the second weekend. Or rather, she convinced Jill Boyer which was pretty much the same thing. She got Kevin Boyer’s friend Thad Wheeling thrown in for free. Kevin figured if he had to stand in the cold in a costume for two hours he wanted a buddy to suffer along with him. Thad was single and Kevin thought he ought to know what it was like to be married to a woman who volunteered for things.
Tammy assigned Kevin and Jill to play Joseph and Mary and gave Thad the part of a wise man. The two Boyer girls, two-year-old Suzie and four-year-old Mary insisted on participating as well. Tammy thought they were a little short to play wise men or shepherds, so she whipped up passable costumes so they could portray a sheep and a camel respectively.
Missy Moore agreed to be a wise man and seemed strangely excited by the prospect of wearing a fake beard. Tammy pressed Ralph into service as the third wise man but she still needed a shepherd. She couldn’t play the part herself because she was scheduled to serve food at a homeless shelter, and as the temperature in Normal dropped nobody else was stepping up.
The morning of the Sunday in question arrived and Tammy was faced with the prospect of a shepherd-less nativity. She worked the coffee hour crowd with furious determination but with the skies an ominous gray, it seemed every single person at church had urgent prior commitments. When she reported her dilemma to Pastor O’Donnell, he took it upon himself to find a volunteer. He immediately set his sights on choir director Shane Reed.
Shane had turned Tammy down without a shred of guilt because he’d played Joseph the first week and figured he’d done his time. That excuse didn’t satisfy Pastor O’Donnell who launched into a big speech about how valuable the tableau of the living nativity was in drawing attention to the church in this holy season.
“Why don’t you take the part yourself if it’s so important?” Shane asked.
The pastor was prepared with another speech in which he claimed it would be a dereliction of his responsibility to involve the congregation in the work of the church if he took a role. Shane eventually decided doing the part would be less painful and possibly less time consuming than listening to any more of Pastor O’Donnell’s speeches.
Noon rolled around and the participants gathered to don their costumes. Missy turned up with a surprise. A friend of hers owned a goat named Poppy Seed that Missy borrowed to compliment the animals portrayed by the two costumed children. Little Mary Boyer instantly fell in love with Poppy Seed. This affection manifested itself in a burning desire to ride the animal which briefly resulted in the odd tableau of a camel seated atop a goat on the church lawn.
Pastor O’Donnell happened along right about then on his way to lunch and commented that he didn’t remember mention of camels riding goats in any of the Gospels. Shane suggested that if the pastor would like to take his place, Shane would be happy to re-read the Gospels over lunch to fact-check the issue. The pastor declined the offer.
Though Mary’s affections remained undimmed, the other participants quickly grew weary of Poppy Seed. The goat ignored the hay they put on the ground in front of it and instead tried to eat the wise men’s robes.
Eventually the wise men learned the radius of Poppy Seed’s tether from where it was staked in the ground and were able to avoid the goat’s destructive teeth. Poppy Seed would not be so easily foiled, however. The manger was still within his reach and the plastic baby Jesus was swaddled in some tasty looking coarse cotton. Once everyone had settled into their poses and allowed their minds to wander to thoughts of the warm, cozy indoors, Poppy Seed made his move.
“Hey,” Jill yelled as Poppy Seed nabbed baby Jesus. “Give that back!”
Jill grabbed onto the doll’s head and engaged Poppy Seed in a tug of war. Missy moved to help but tripped on the goat’s tether, dislodging the stake from the ground. Poppy Seed gave a hard tug and the doll’s head popped right off in Jill’s hand. Now free, Poppy Seed loped away with the swaddled, headless doll, dragging the tether and stake behind him.
Shane noted that Biblical accuracy was going right out the window in this particular living nativity.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell had just finished scraping the ice from the windshield of his car. He was about to climb in when he noticed a quarter in the slush at the edge of the parking lot. “How lucky,” the pastor thought as he bent down to pick it up.
Right about then Poppy Seed galloped around the corner of the church and into the parking lot. He saw Pastor O’Donnell bent over and his goat instincts kicked in. He put his head down and butted the pastor from behind. O’Donnell was caught completely off guard and sprawled into the slush. Poppy Seed continued his romp.
Shane, in the lead among Poppy Seed’s pursuers, saw the entire incident. He tried hard to suppress his grin while he ascertained that the pastor had sustained no injury greater than a bruise. Fortunately Pastor O’Donnell’s backside was well padded.
There were several near accidents on Elm Street caused by drivers distracted at the sight of biblical characters chasing a goat with a headless baby in its mouth down the sidewalk. Pastor O’Donnell was certainly right about the living nativity getting attention.
They finally caught up to Poppy Seed four blocks later in front of a coffee shop. Shane grabbed the rope around the goat’s neck and Missy managed to get the doll back by trading for her robe.
“Well, we better get back to the church,” Missy said.
And just then it began to sleet.
Shane looked into the coffee shop. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Coffee’s on me.”
Ten minutes later the coffee shop patrons were treated to the tableau of Mary, Joseph, two wise men, a shepherd, two children dressed as a camel and a sheep, and a bearded woman squeezed around a small table enjoying hot drinks while outside a goat tied to a parking meter devoured a cotton robe.
Kevin took a sip of his double gingerbread latte and sighed happily. “Forget gold, frankincense and myrrh. This is the best Christmas gift of all.”
“You’re welcome,” shepherd Shane said.
In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. This year, Pastor Henry O’Donnell decided it would be nifty to have a living nativity scene for the Christmas season. They would build a wooden stable on the front lawn and have volunteers pose as the nativity story characters for two hours each Sunday between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Pastor O’Donnell considered himself more of an idea man than an organizer so he assigned church secretary Tammy Billings to be in charge of the project. Fortunately for the pastor, Tammy loved to be in charge of things. First, she had her husband Ralph build the stable and manger. Ralph was quite handy and whipped up an impressive set in no time.
Tammy created a sign-up sheet and began trolling for volunteers during coffee hours in late November. She had convinced Pastor O’Donnell that having a real baby play Jesus would be unwise given the average December weather in Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that same weather seemed to be having a chilling effect on the adult population’s willingness to participate as well.
Tammy managed to convince the Boyer family to volunteer for the second weekend. Or rather, she convinced Jill Boyer which was pretty much the same thing. She got Kevin Boyer’s friend Thad Wheeling thrown in for free. Kevin figured if he had to stand in the cold in a costume for two hours he wanted a buddy to suffer along with him. Thad was single and Kevin thought he ought to know what it was like to be married to a woman who volunteered for things.
Tammy assigned Kevin and Jill to play Joseph and Mary and gave Thad the part of a wise man. The two Boyer girls, two-year-old Suzie and four-year-old Mary insisted on participating as well. Tammy thought they were a little short to play wise men or shepherds, so she whipped up passable costumes so they could portray a sheep and a camel respectively.
Missy Moore agreed to be a wise man and seemed strangely excited by the prospect of wearing a fake beard. Tammy pressed Ralph into service as the third wise man but she still needed a shepherd. She couldn’t play the part herself because she was scheduled to serve food at a homeless shelter, and as the temperature in Normal dropped nobody else was stepping up.
The morning of the Sunday in question arrived and Tammy was faced with the prospect of a shepherd-less nativity. She worked the coffee hour crowd with furious determination but with the skies an ominous gray, it seemed every single person at church had urgent prior commitments. When she reported her dilemma to Pastor O’Donnell, he took it upon himself to find a volunteer. He immediately set his sights on choir director Shane Reed.
Shane had turned Tammy down without a shred of guilt because he’d played Joseph the first week and figured he’d done his time. That excuse didn’t satisfy Pastor O’Donnell who launched into a big speech about how valuable the tableau of the living nativity was in drawing attention to the church in this holy season.
“Why don’t you take the part yourself if it’s so important?” Shane asked.
The pastor was prepared with another speech in which he claimed it would be a dereliction of his responsibility to involve the congregation in the work of the church if he took a role. Shane eventually decided doing the part would be less painful and possibly less time consuming than listening to any more of Pastor O’Donnell’s speeches.
Noon rolled around and the participants gathered to don their costumes. Missy turned up with a surprise. A friend of hers owned a goat named Poppy Seed that Missy borrowed to compliment the animals portrayed by the two costumed children. Little Mary Boyer instantly fell in love with Poppy Seed. This affection manifested itself in a burning desire to ride the animal which briefly resulted in the odd tableau of a camel seated atop a goat on the church lawn.
Pastor O’Donnell happened along right about then on his way to lunch and commented that he didn’t remember mention of camels riding goats in any of the Gospels. Shane suggested that if the pastor would like to take his place, Shane would be happy to re-read the Gospels over lunch to fact-check the issue. The pastor declined the offer.
Though Mary’s affections remained undimmed, the other participants quickly grew weary of Poppy Seed. The goat ignored the hay they put on the ground in front of it and instead tried to eat the wise men’s robes.
Eventually the wise men learned the radius of Poppy Seed’s tether from where it was staked in the ground and were able to avoid the goat’s destructive teeth. Poppy Seed would not be so easily foiled, however. The manger was still within his reach and the plastic baby Jesus was swaddled in some tasty looking coarse cotton. Once everyone had settled into their poses and allowed their minds to wander to thoughts of the warm, cozy indoors, Poppy Seed made his move.
“Hey,” Jill yelled as Poppy Seed nabbed baby Jesus. “Give that back!”
Jill grabbed onto the doll’s head and engaged Poppy Seed in a tug of war. Missy moved to help but tripped on the goat’s tether, dislodging the stake from the ground. Poppy Seed gave a hard tug and the doll’s head popped right off in Jill’s hand. Now free, Poppy Seed loped away with the swaddled, headless doll, dragging the tether and stake behind him.
Shane noted that Biblical accuracy was going right out the window in this particular living nativity.
Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell had just finished scraping the ice from the windshield of his car. He was about to climb in when he noticed a quarter in the slush at the edge of the parking lot. “How lucky,” the pastor thought as he bent down to pick it up.
Right about then Poppy Seed galloped around the corner of the church and into the parking lot. He saw Pastor O’Donnell bent over and his goat instincts kicked in. He put his head down and butted the pastor from behind. O’Donnell was caught completely off guard and sprawled into the slush. Poppy Seed continued his romp.
Shane, in the lead among Poppy Seed’s pursuers, saw the entire incident. He tried hard to suppress his grin while he ascertained that the pastor had sustained no injury greater than a bruise. Fortunately Pastor O’Donnell’s backside was well padded.
There were several near accidents on Elm Street caused by drivers distracted at the sight of biblical characters chasing a goat with a headless baby in its mouth down the sidewalk. Pastor O’Donnell was certainly right about the living nativity getting attention.
They finally caught up to Poppy Seed four blocks later in front of a coffee shop. Shane grabbed the rope around the goat’s neck and Missy managed to get the doll back by trading for her robe.
“Well, we better get back to the church,” Missy said.
And just then it began to sleet.
Shane looked into the coffee shop. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Coffee’s on me.”
Ten minutes later the coffee shop patrons were treated to the tableau of Mary, Joseph, two wise men, a shepherd, two children dressed as a camel and a sheep, and a bearded woman squeezed around a small table enjoying hot drinks while outside a goat tied to a parking meter devoured a cotton robe.
Kevin took a sip of his double gingerbread latte and sighed happily. “Forget gold, frankincense and myrrh. This is the best Christmas gift of all.”
“You’re welcome,” shepherd Shane said.
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