Amon decided to have a special dinner for Tom and Joanie to thank him for his efforts in getting Lou Stout and the Curtis staff to participate in the faculty–senior basketball game for charity. Several teachers from Curtis were invited, including Dick Grimsby, Tony Tumali, union rep Alan Katz, as well as Amon’s biggest fan, the curly-haired Lora, clattering her copper bracelets and anklets—to the distraction of everyone around her.
Mary and Amon had worked hard cleaning and decorating a large dining room, in which a long table was set with dishes and utensils that were mix-and-match pieces. There was a clean linen tablecloth and a big crystal vase filled with wildflowers picked from the North Shore’s woods. Amon, dressed in a white dress shirt and white cotton trousers, sat at the head of the table below Cara’s portrait of him with the miraculous halo. Mary, wearing a simple white summer dress, sat calmly next to her soul mate. The stress of the past few months with regard to the city’s clearing the harbor of its abandoned ships, corroded hulks, and rotting docks, as well as its seizing of his tugboat, was written on her pretty careworn face. Loyal, steadfast, hardworking, and totally devoted to Amon, she was the very personification of saintliness.
Tom thought about his first acquaintance with Martha and Mary from his days of hanging out at Kaffman’s bar on Morningstar Road. Both young women were novice teachers, like himself, struggling to adapt to that demanding profession.
In the ensuing years, Martha had remained the same strong-willed, petulant woman, while Mary had grown in character, transforming her beliefs and values into concrete actions of caregiving to those in need. An objective observer might associate Martha with stagnation and Mary with enhancement.
Turning to Dick Grimsby, Tony Tumali said, “Well, Dick, are we going to witness any miracles today from Amon?”
“Maybe not. His healing powers aren’t quite what they were a few years ago.”
“How’s your leg? I noticed you’ve been wearing that brace again.”
“The leg’s all right. It’s still better than it was before Amon intervened,” the congenial biology teacher replied.
“Amon helps everyone who crosses his path. He is a very kind person who brings out the best in people,” Lora said reverently, rattling her copper bracelets gently.
“Of course. I wonder if that old black-and-white TV set I found on that abandoned ship is still working,” Tony replied.
“Actually, it still works. They have it in the boardinghouse on Simonson Avenue. You have a talent for retrieving old junk and giving it a second life,” Tom interjected.
“Well, I found you, Tom, drinking in some bar on the Island. And I rehabilitated you,” Tony snapped.
Joanie giggled, to Tom’s dismay. “Well, your friend is very funny.”
“The stories about my drinking are grossly exaggerated.”
“They’re gross, but they’re not exaggerated. Tom is a recovering barhopper,” Tony declared.
“And Tony is a recovering tightwad,” Tom replied.
“No, Tony is a recovering penny-pincher,” Dick chimed in.
“Considering the average paycheck of schoolteachers in this city, we all have to be frugal in our spending,” Alan Katz, the teachers’ union rep, commented.
“Maybe it’s time for another strike,” Tom said.
“This guy’s a friggin’ troublemaker. You better keep him on a tight leash,” Tony said, motioning to Joanie.
“I’ll try, but Tom has a mind of his own. He tends to go off half-cocked without rhyme or reason,” she replied mischievously.
“Half-cocked, you say? Anyway, striking is the weapon of last resort,” Tony said.
“Sure. I recall a certain member of the science department who crossed the picket line a few years back,” Alan snapped, nodding at Tony.
“Union contracts set the standard for wages and working conditions across the country,” Tom asserted.
“Absolutely. We had sweatshops and kids working in factories before unions existed in this country. The very idea of the weekend—time off from the workweek for workers—was created by unions,” Alan continued.
“Trade unions created the weekend. That’s an amazing fact,” Tom replied.
“They had weekend drinkers like you in mind,” Tony jibed.
Becoming more annoyed at Tony’s barbs, Tom was about to curse out his friend but was halted by Amon’s pre-speech preparations.
At that moment, Amon stood up, fumbling with a piece of paper that had a few paragraphs of a speech hastily scribbled on it in pencil. The young man who had come to be known as the Mariners Harbor Messiah seemed to be nervous.
“Thank you for coming here tonight. A great deal of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears have been given in rehabilitating this residence for the poor, the homeless, and the downtrodden of Mariners Harbor. My friend Tom was the first Islander that I became acquainted with, welcoming and helping me in more ways than I can recount. In this secular society of ours, it was gratifying to experience the kindness and generosity of the good people of the North Shore,” he recited, pausing to glance at Tom.
“Truly, their spirit has brought this wonderful old Victorian building back to life again. It’s nothing less than a miracle and a renaissance: creating a caring environment for the people who enter it from a world where indifference, neglect, and despair often abide. As in the pop song “Everyday People,” it makes no difference what group we’re in. We are all everyday people.”
Pausing to look at his paper again, Amon mentioned a passage from the Bible, Paul’s letter to the Corinthians: “‘Love is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it does not rejoice in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.’
“There is a famous poem by John Donne that echoes the highest sentiments of people in all walks of life, reaching out to help one another: ‘No man is an island entire of itself. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’”
Everyone in the audience was moved by Amon’s heartfelt words, particularly Mary, his devoted, long-suffering partner in all his endeavors. The tears flowed down her pretty, careworn face as she hugged her man passionately, unwilling to relinquish him in her grasp. Joanie looked at Tom fearfully, as if she foresaw an impending tragedy. A general sense of foreboding pervaded the large dining room, imposing an awkward silence on the celebrants. One by one, the Curtis teachers and Lora slowly left the Victorian house, gripped by sorrow and regret. As Lora left, her copper bracelets and anklets seemed to reverberate mournfully. The gentle ringing of the Curtis coed’s jewelry reminded Tom of a funeral dirge, commemorating the death of a Good Samaritan.