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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Lucknow Sentinel, 2014-12-24, Page 88 Lucknow Sentinel • Wednesday, December 24, 2014 St. A Story for Christmas Mike O'Neill The block around St. Bas- il's church seemed an oasis in a desert of hard times. In a tiny, inner city area sur- rounded by neighbourhoods that boasted street gangs, crime, poverty and despera- tion, it alone stood calm and safe. Across the block from St. Basil's was a small frame building with a long -aban- doned cemetery out behind. It was surrounded by a low fence. What was remarkable were the statues. They were of angels, standing guard, perched on each post all the way around the crumbling tombstones. And out front was the statue of St. Michael the Archangel, standing over the vanquished Lucifer, for- ever sending him to Hell. Hungry people could come to St. Michael's soup kitchen for a meal, maybe a shower, or a warm coat, and someone to talk to. It was run by some pretty tough nuns that worked as hard as teamsters to keep the lifeline to the people open and functioning. Over at St. Basil's, old Jas- per still managed to keep the lights on and the Nativity scene in place every year. No one knew how old he was, he had always been there. Sometimes he'd drop in at the kitchen and see how ichael's Soup Kitchen things were going, maybe have a meal and talk about the meaning of Christmas. This time he brought news of a turf war that was looming. It marked a major change in the safety of all, even the ones here in what had been a DMZ of sorts. For several blocks in all directions, the inner city moved to its own rhythms and impulses. Different groups, separated by ethnic background, beliefs, aspira- tions and philosophies lived uneasily with each other. Careful not to break unwrit- ten rules, avoiding unneces- sary contact, youngsters from all streets were enfolded into the gangs that ran each area. They had their own rules and rituals and a code so hard that to break it was to die. And yet the block remained an island. St. Michael's opened a few short years ago. It filled a need, and so was left alone. At least that's what the prev- alent thought was. How did the supplies get through? No one really knew for sure, but twice a week an old army - surplus truck would arrive with three or four guys, drop off the goods and leave. Marija, the manager, called them "the angels of suste- nance" and never doubted that they would come through every time. But now, if the gangs were changing leadership and try- ing to capture more turf, as they called it, there might be a radical shift in how things were done. Into the impending maelstrom came Sister Ellen with a bat- tered suitcase in hand and a tired sigh and a warm smile. "Anybody need a cook?" she asked as she looked around the room. "Ah, you're here. Wel- come, welcome, welcome" answered Marija as she scur- ried to meet the new arrival. "Our quarters are upstairs. C'mon I'll get you settled in and you can meet the rest of the crew." No one noticed the young man, blond hair touching his shoulders, sweeping the floor near the coffee table. He seemed a bit pre -occu- pied. He'd stop and look out the window, then return to his task. His raiment reflected his military manor. His erect posture, precise movement, and constant awareness of his surround- ings all indicated he'd served. What was he doing here? Soon enough, the sisters came back down into the kitchen. Marija showing Ellen the idiosyncrasies of the cranky gas stove hidden in the corner. Together they worked at getting supper ready and were oblivious to what was happening just a few feet away. Tables were filling up with the ragged and poor, all hop- ing for a meal and someone to tallc to. And they were talk- ing in hushed tones to each other. They were agitated as they asked each other where the statues had gone and if they'd heard about the Dia- blo's. Someone said they'd heard that a new leader was in place and going to take over the soup kitchen. They said the police refused to go into that area unless some- thing really wild was hap- pening. Then all sound ceased. Moments later a commo- tion brought Sister Ellen and Marija out to look at the room. The other nuns scooted behind the counter with them and watched a terrifying scene unfold. Through the front door came the Diablo's. They were all dressed in black, turned up collars on long trench coats, red silk shirts and black, pointy shoes. Their leader was in front and very impres- sive. They stopped. The guy with the long blond hair stood in their way. One of the underlings said "Want me to move him, Luke?" Luke didn't even look up as he took a cigar from somewhere and magically lit it with his fingers. Then he blew the smoke into the face of the young man. Only the smoke parted and drifted on past. Luke looked up into his eyes and a jolt of recognition crossed his face. "Luke now is it?" rumbled the defender of the soup kitchen. "Michael. Another time," Saturday, December 27th 10 - 6 Sunday, December 28th 12 - 6 NiNe WAVCS 4 x dor i nx i'm X El 457 Campbell St., Lucknow • 737 Queen St., Kincardine • 198 Main St., Listowel said Luke and turned and left. "We'll be back," said someone in the group. "No. You won't," replied a voice behind Michael. The nuns behind the counter suddenly realized that about a dozen young men stood behind Michael, guarding the people at the tables. No one had seen them come in, they were just there. Then Michael turned and Sister Ellen saw his face for the first time. She paled and slipped behind the cup- boards and back over to the stove. She was shaking. Marija came to her side. 'Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost:' Ellen turned to her new friend. "I'm going to tell you something I can't believe. A full forty years ago Iran away from home and got off a bus downtown. I was seventeen. I didn't know anything about life. I just had to get away. So I was standing in the bus sta- tion, suitcase at my feet, counting out my money, and a very nice young man walked up to me. He seemed to know me, what I was feel- ing, how scared I was and all that. He said he'd look after me, and that I shouldn't worry. He told me his name and bought me a meal and was so warm and funny and attentive and I was sure I was falling in love. Then another guy showed up. He told my rescuer to leave. And he did, a bit reluctantly, but you could tell he was scared. Then the second guy told me just what the first guy was doing. He was a "recruiter" for the sex trade and I had narrowly missed a very bad time. Then he called over a cop and I spent my first night in town in a hospice of sorts run by the sisters. Marija, the second guy was Michael. I'd bet my beads on it." "What? You're beads? You can't do that!" "No, but it's him." "But he's too young!" said Marija. "It's him!" They both peeked out around the cupboards, but Michael and the guards were gone. Just then an old man came in. "The statues are all there!" A week later, the "angels of sustenance" delivered the best Christmas dinner ever had at St. Michael's Soup Kitchen. About the Author: Mike O'Neill lives on a small farm on Grey Ox Ave. which is just a few kilometers north of Lucknow. He quips, "It's a bit hilly, so I generally tell peo- ple that I have 75 acres by the deed, but 200 if I stretch it out flat." O'Neill is, in order of his preference, a husband, father, grandfather, writer, hobby farmer, plumber and thinker of deep, philosophi- cal thoughts. Always a big fan of Christmas and the true meaning, he searches for tiny miracles every day and sometimes gets inspired by bigger ones. Submitted The students at Lucknow Central Public School were no exception in getting into the Christmas spirit for 2014.