Tom stood nervously next to Amon on the stage of the Curtis auditorium, looking at the congregation of students talking and fidgeting in their seats. It was a first for the skinny science teacher, who recalled the many times he had shepherded his homeroom class to assembly programs on the environment, science, current events, and the school’s clubs and teams. He remembered the “x” class boys rebellion refusing to attend assembly after their homeroom teacher, Mr. Gento, had excused the girls from that obligation. A stern lecture from his guidance counselor and a letter to his mom were the punishment for that particular transgression.
The school’s burly principal, Lou Stout, spoke briefly about the guest, as if he were an old acquaintance, taking credit for his contributions to the North Shore, as he had done when Tom started the holiday food basket program a few years earlier. Then, he nodded to Tom to “give the introduction for the Mariners Harbor Messiah.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tom began haltingly, startled by the sound of his voice reverberating in the large auditorium.
“Hey, Mr. Haley, why don’t you set off one of your match-head rockets?” Manny yelled from the audience.
“Not today, folks. Where were we? Ah, I first met Amon walking on Richmond Terrace more than two years ago, seeing him connecting some wires from his tugboat to a utility pole. I was stunned to see him fall from the that pole and land on the wooden pier without injuring himself. He is a skilled carpenter, housepainter, plumber, fisherman, stickball player, and faith healer. But the most impressive qualities of my friend are his kindness and compassion for the homeless, the poor, the sick, and those afflicted by alcoholism and drug addiction. Please give Amon a warm welcome.”
An extended period of applause and cheering followed, which surprised Tom as Amon looked over his notes, preparing to speak. Indeed, as a result of numerous articles in the Advocate, Amon had become a celebrity—on par with rock stars, baseball players, and movie actors.
“Thank you, everybody, for that warm welcome. Curtis High School was one of the first places I saw on Staten Island. I really admire those sandstone gargoyles on the front of your school, plus the great view of the New York City skyline.”
“Tell them about your rescue of that guy who jumped off the ferryboat,” Lora called out from the front row, rattling her copper bracelets and anklets so that the jangling could be heard throughout the large auditorium.
Smiling sheepishly, Amon proceeded. “Don’t believe everything you read in the newspapers. I’m no superhero, no faith healer, no clairvoyant, no avatar, and certainly no messiah. I do live in Mariners Harbor on a tugboat off Richmond Terrace. You’re welcome to stop by and lend a hand. The city has given us another building in Mariners Harbor to fix up for those who have nowhere to live. Never look down on someone who is poor, for truly they are your brothers. Perhaps you can volunteer in your own neighborhoods—help shut-ins, disabled folks, and the needy. Give of yourself, and the rewards will be awesome. I am an ordinary man, faced with formidable tasks, limited resources, and little time left to accomplish these worthwhile goals.
“There is one rule which guides me in my everyday life—the golden rule stated by Jesus himself: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The dos and don’ts of your parents, the laws of our city and state, and our Constitution advise us to treat each other with mutual respect, regardless of our class, color, or creed. And remember, folks, errors of omission are as bad as errors of commission. Your teacher, Mr. Haley, informed me that the foundation of ethics originates with the ancient Roman stoics, like Epictetus. A Roman slave, Epictetus advocated a life of simplicity, sacrifice, austerity, and reason. He said the stoic is happy despite poverty, sickness, imprisonment, or impending death.”
The student audience reacted negatively to Amon’s description of Roman stoicism, causing him to pause. “Of course, this is an ideal picture of the virtuous life. Mr. Haley also mentioned the German philosopher Immanuel Kant, who stated the categorical imperative—a universal ethical principle that applies to all people, in all times, and across all societies. Such moral rules—such as do not lie, steal, or kill—are compelled by the will and by reason.”
“In Jesus’s own words: Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the persecuted, the sick, the hungry, the workers, and the peacemakers. It’s the young people like yourselves, Curtis High School students, who are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Do not answer violence with violence. If struck on the cheek, turn the other cheek, rather than retaliating with force. Do not be consumed with material wants, to the detriment of spiritual concerns. Judge not, and you won’t be judged. Ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and it will be opened to you. In 1960, John Kennedy said we should not ask what America can do for us. Instead, we should ask what we can do for America. Ben Franklin urged us not to waste time, for time is the stuff life is made of. I feel my own time is coming to an end, and I need you—Curtis students—to carry on my work and do good in the world.”
The students burst forth in thunderous applause and cheering as Amon walked off the stage and headed down one of the aisles. Several students, including Lora and Barry, hugged the charismatic young man, whose face was overcome with emotion. There was a mixture of awe, happiness, and sadness in the crowd. And the feeling that Amon wouldn’t be around much longer was palpable to everyone sitting in the Curtis auditorium.