General Fiction posted December 25, 2024

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One day at a time

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons Ch 10

by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia enjoyed a gospel quartet festival with the treat of Elvis Presley.

Chapter 10

“Amazing!” Sylvia said as she managed to negotiate Tank around a ninety-degree turn in the ultra-narrow, basically one-lane highway. However, a yellow center line divided it as a walking or bicycle trail.

“The information we got back at the visitor center said that Route 66 was basically a route incorporating existing roads – mostly.” Sylvia slowed for the next sharp turn. “You wanna drive?”

“No, you’re doing fine.

“’Count the cost,’ Jesus said. Before you begin a project, determine whether you can finish it. My guess here is that a contractor only got paid if he connected two ends with pavement. He had the funding for halfway, so instead of a full road halfway, he built a half road the whole way.”

“Amazing,” Sylvia repeated. “So, Joplin is your last engagement?”

“Unless they refer us, yes.”

“Well, we’re good either way. We might cut back on restaurant eating, though. We could buy a cooler and I could make sandwiches and such.”

Ben Paul nodded.

+++

“Be prepared,” Ben Paul began his sermon. “Every Boy Scout learns their motto on his first day. Turn in your Bibles to the book of Matthew, chapter 25. We’ll begin reading at verse one.” Ben Paul expanded and expounded on the scripture, laying out the scene and the traditions.

“Of course, Jesus is talking about the end of days, when time draws to a close and the saints rise to meet Jesus. Be prepared. But I believe Sylvia and I have been brought here to Joplin for something closer to the here and now. Be prepared. Not just for the next life, but for this one. Who doesn’t check his well periodically to make sure the family or farm has water to last a dry spell? Who doesn’t look over the hay barn in the fall to make sure he’s ready for the winter? What housewife doesn’t look over her stocks before the family arrives for holidays?

“People, a storm is coming. I know it just as my own father did preaching that a storm was coming to San Francisco before the ’06 earthquake. It was years in coming, just as your storm might be years in coming. But the farmer doesn’t wait until he is out of hay in February to think about filling the barn.

“In California, as I said, their concern was earthquakes. Builders there are beginning to suggest codes that will supposedly make homes earthquake-proof. Now, whether they can save a house, or not, could be debated. But could they save a life?

“You folks in the Midwest have had storm shelters for decades, but not all of you. And how long since your shelters have been made fast and secure?” How many of you only have enough oil in your lamps for half the storm season?

“Iron straps can hold a roof onto the house. Maybe not save the building from destruction, but maybe save your children’s lives. Anchor bolts in the concrete slabs. Several of them. There’s a host of precautionary methods.

“And not just your homes, but your hearts, as well. Your families. A storm is coming, people. If I thought it would come tonight, I would preach a different message. I would be screaming and pleading, begging you to be saved, to pray earnestly for your unsaved loved ones. But I’m preaching a springtime message. Just as Joseph counseled the Pharoah to store up grain for the lean years to come, you need to shore up your homes for the storm that is to come, If not for yourselves, then for your grandchildren.”

+++

“Would you just look at that!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Did you see them?”

“Yes, I did,” Ben Paul replied. “White squirrels. Look, there’s more.”

“Well. I’ll be. Never saw the like.”

“Somebody, some transplant from Moline, Illinois, said they have black squirrels, solid, jet black.”

“Well, I’ll be. Guess it’s possible. Dogs and horses come in all colors. Think there are any black gulls?”

“Those would be crows, my dear.”

“Oh!” Sylvia swatted at Ben Paul as they both laughed.

“What’s our plan,” Sylvia asked, somewhat surprised that they hadn’t discussed it all morning, just loaded the car, ate breakfast and headed east on Route 66.

“We really are a land of immigrants,” Sylvia said. Ben Paul was driving while she studied their map. “Here we are in Lebanon. Sparta was just back there a ways. A sign pointed north to Warsaw. Cuba is up ahead. Krakow is up by St. Louis. There was Freistatt back by Joplin. That has to be German. Krakow isn’t far from Daniel Boone’s home according to the map.

“Moscow Mills, Mexico, that’s up to the north. Oh, and north of that is Milan. Wanna go to Italy?”

“Not particularly. But I would like to see Rome, I guess.”

“Not in Missouri,” Sylvia answered after quickly checking the printed list of towns. But there’s Belgrade. And Brazeau. That has to be French. Oh dear. If I read any more of this fine print I’ll be sick.”

“I’ll accept your premise that we’re truly an immigrant nation,” Ben Paul said, smiling and slowing a bit.

“So where are we going?”

“I have an address in St Louis of a church. Tony Bertelli preached there.”

“You’ve mentioned his name,” Sylvia said.

“We hadn’t received a reply to my letter before we left; so I don’t know what to expect. How about we get close to St. Louis and get a room?”

“We could go to the YMCA?” Sylvia suggested, half hoping Ben Paul would nix the notion.

He looked at her through a pinched eye. “I think we can afford a motel. But we’ll need to find a bank that will cash Joplin’s check first.

Slyvia perked up as if she would see one amidst the pastures and corn fields.

+++

Tony Bertelli’s church was in shambles, abandoned.

“I have a name,” Ben Paul said. “Pastor Mike Renner. His church was near the Union Station.”

Eventually, they made their way to the train station, but there was no church anywhere nearby. Had there been someone who knew, they would have told Ben Paul and Sylvia that their car was parked in the lot right about midway on the right side of the sanctuary pews and that Renner and his wife had both been dead for many years.

“Oh, yeah,” a neighbor said, an old man who using a cane slowly made it to the door. Pastor Renner. I remember him. Didn’t he die? Buried my missus, he did. Over in Bellfountain. Nearest one with room. Got a double plot. My name’s already on the stone. Might get over there tonight. Hope so. Called the monument company. Said I had to wait ‘til I had the date. ‘Magine that. Have ta give ‘em my date ’fore they’ll do any more carvin’. Told ‘em to put today on it. They hung up.”

Ben Paul wasn’t sure how long he would let the old man ramble.

“You look in a phone book? You look old ‘nough ta know that much. Come in. We’ll look.”

Finally, they found a church listing in the Yellow Pages with a Thad Renner listed as the pastor in Ferguson, a suburb of St. Louis to the north. When Ben Paul offered to pray with the old codger before they left, Sylvia had a vision that sent a tremor coursing through her body – what if in the middle of Ben Paul’s prayer the old man just fell over and died? Stifling the fear, she joined them in prayer, not really breathing until they were outside.

Ben Paul laughed at her tale.

+++

“Biggest funeral I know of,” Pastor Thad Renner said. “Rev. Tony didn’t have much of a congregation left. Most moved away or died off, but he and Ellie wanted to stay right there til the end. He had a mission, he said. That was the sermon at his funeral – he fought the fight, ran the race, fulfilled his mission. He was a much loved, and respected, I can tell you… much loved man.

“Could have been the President. Did you know that? Chose the ministry.

“Wait a minute!” Pastor Renner snapped his fingers. “You’re Ben Persons! Right. You’re the boy who shot Al Fresco. Ah…”

Ben Paul winced. It had been a long time. He hadn’t come all this way to search for himself, but for his father… or had he?

Sylvia noticed the change overcoming him and reached for his hand.

“Sorry. Not a good memory.” Pastor Renner’s apology fell short. “You’ll find Little Tony, only he goes by Antwan, at the pool hall by Union Station. Don’t know the name of it.”

Ben Paul and Sylvia said goodbye and left, neither mentioning the ungraciousness or inhospitable nature of Renner.

“There it is,” Ben Paul said, their search an easy one. “Has to be. Big Ed’s Billiards.”

Neither smiled.

“So you’re the famous Ben Paul Persons. I’d say I remember you, but I don’t. I think I was what, four, when you and your ma came out last?”

When Ben Paul didn’t take his conversational turn, Antwan filled the void. “Shot my uncle right in the skull. Right on the top of his head. POW! And my adopted father killed my dad. POW! They should make a movie: The Guns of God.”

Ben Paul didn’t correct him, that it wasn’t Tony’s hand that killed his father.

“Guess you saved my life. But maybe not. Sure as hell saved the old man and my mother. Me, I ‘spect I’d be a Chicago White Sox fan, or a Dee-troit Tiger fan, shootin’ pool up there. Fresco woulda taken me home with him where I could be raised with my people.”

“The Lord’s people are your people,” Ben Paul said.

At that, Antwan flinched, jerking his body not in defense, but offense, as if to slug Ben Paul.

Ben Paul didn’t budge.

“Well, Mr. Persons. I figure I just returned the favor. I just saved your life. What do you have to say about that?”

After a pause, Ben Paul replied. “Antwan, we’re going to get a sandwich and a jug of water, and we’re going into your father’s church and we’re going to pray for you until God tells us to stop.”

“Well keep your noses peeled for the smell of smoke. That old building been wantin’ to be burned down for a long time.”

After a stare-down that Ben Paul won, Antwan watched them turn and leave bearing a forced, nervous grin.

+++

“What do we do?” Sylvia asked, knowing the answer. “And don’t suggest I stay in the motel.”

Ben Paul asked if she had any idea where a grocery store might be

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Note: An E-5 tornado devasted Joplin on May 22, 2011
https://www.the route-66.com/ribbon-road-us66.html#history
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_Joplin_tornado

Ben Persons: young man called of God (1861-1890)
Ben Paul Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons (1891-)
Sylvia Adams Persons: grand-daughter of Livvy (1904-)
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben (senior) rescued in 1886
Mary Goldman/Diddleknopper: wife of Slim
Tony Bertelli: protege' of Ben persons (Sr)
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony

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One day at a time

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons Ch 10

by Wayne Fowler

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