General Fiction posted January 2, 2025

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A promise kept, and a sermonette

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 13

by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben Paul and Sylvia made great progress toward converting the building to a homeless shelter. Ben Paul won financing and a pledge that Antwan would preach the first sermon by winning a pool game.

Chapter 13

“We need someone, Ben Paul. The Grand opening is next Sunday.”

Ben Paul did not tell her that he knew full well when the Grand Opening would be. Sylvia was standing right beside him when Antwan came over with his final installment of the 13,400 dollars and heard him tell Antwan what time he was expected the next Sunday. But Ben Paul understood that it was stress that had Sylvia unnerved. He understood very well that should no one fill the position, Ben Paul himself would be compelled to. And that would not do. Not only was Sylvia ready to head back home to Creede, but so was he. Every bone in his frame was exhausted.

The next day as they found themselves together in the kitchen, each thinking about their evening meal, a tall, lanky, black man in a suit, absent a tie, wandered in. “Hello? Excuse me, I’m just in time?”

“Justin Tyne?” Ben Paul asked as Sylvia dropped her jaw, leaving it open at the young man’s arrival.

“No sir. Just in time for supper. Haven’t eaten all day, the price of food on the train.”

“Justin, we’re about to go for Italian. You eat Italian?”

“Yes sir. I’d eat anything that didn’t eat me first.”

“Come then.” Ben Paul began to usher the young man back the way he’d entered the room after motioning for Sylvia to lift her lower jaw.

+++

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” the young man said from the back seat of Tank as they made their way to an Italian mom-and-pop restaurant they’d learned of up by the Mississipppi. “First, my name’s Malcolm Richards. I graduated from the Moody Bible Institute last June. I could have had several churches, small ones. Or taken assistant preacher positions. I’ve been trying out and interviewing all summer and fall. But my heart knew - wasn’t any of them right.”

“You’re not married?” Sylvia asked.

“No ma’am. I know churches want a married man, but that would be wrong, marry someone just as a job qualification.”

“So you got on a train? Why St. Louis?” Ben Paul asked.

“Funny you should ask. I got to the station window and asked when the next train was leaving. They said if I ran I could catch the Texas Eagle. I just barely had enough money. And here I am.”

“You just came here from Union Station?” Sylvia asked.

“No ma’am. I called a church when I got off the train and asked about a ministers’ alliance meeting. The preacher I talked to came and picked me up, said I was right on time. At the meeting, every single preacher I talked to said ‘Ben Paul Persons’. And to go to the church across from the Union Station, right where I was three hours ago.”

“Well, you got to meet your principal donors and your spiritual support.”

“You mean I got the position?”

Both Sylvia and Ben Paul laughed aloud. “Son, I don’t see how you can turn it down, the way God brought you here.”

By the time they’d finished their spaghetti, Malcolm was anxious to meet Antwan. He felt in his soul that they would soon be friends.

+++

“Oh, Ben Paul. I’m so excited for Malcolm. He’s perfect.” Ben Paul was driving and Sylvia was attempting to give him instructions to Lincoln’s highway.

“Darlin’,” Ben Paul said, “what do you say we skip any more adventure and just try to make it home?”

Sylvia tossed the map into the back seat. “I would love it. Right after we see Chicago and the tallest building in the world. And… the start of Route 66.”

They both laughed.

“Hon,” Sylvia said, striking a more somber note. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, leaving before Antwan preaches his sermon?”

Ben Paul took a moment to respond. “I think it’s six in one and seven in the other.”

Sylvia caught the perversion of the six in one, half dozen in the other saying.

“It’s just hard to see which hand has six and which has seven.”

Sylvia smiled in complete understanding.

“I think it might offer Antwan a little freedom, maybe give him, I don’t know… community stature.”

Sylvia wasn’t sure what Ben Paul meant but let it go. “Might help him preach to the homeless instead of performing for you.”

Ben Paul nodded.

“What do you think he’ll preach on?” Sylvia asked.

Ben Paul chuckled. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to call Malcolm and find out.”

+++

“His words weren’t very good. And his delivery was, well… bad. But his heart was right. Some of the men were nodding along. And not to sleep, either.” Malcolm chuckled at the double entendre. “Isaiah 55 – Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters. And he tied it to John 4:14 – never thirst again. I think I work on it and make it a recurring theme,” Malcolm said.

Ben Paul was too choked to get his response right, but immediately penned Malcolm a congratulatory and supportive letter.

+++

“Route 66 starts right here,” Sylvia declared, rocking Tank with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake as if it was the start of a race. They sat at the intersection of Jackson Drive at Lakefront Trail.

“Perfect,” Ben Paul said, crumpling the city map. “Head due west and we can visit Angelo La Lama Caruso on our way out.”

“La Lama?”

“The Blade,” Ben Paul replied. “He taught me to point, shoot, and reload. Funny. I think of that formula when I minister, like that service in Sante Fe.”

“When you spoke blessings and scriptures over people, even me.”

Ben Paul nodded. “Point, shoot, reload. Of course, Angelo was talking about a shotgun.” Ben Paul’s expression fell somber. “Anyway. Angelo meant a great deal to my father… and me. And he’s just up the road.”

“Who do you think all those people are going to see?” Sylvia asked, pointing to the dozens of who she figured were tourists after they’d parked and began their walking search for Angelo’s grave.

“I’m afraid I know,” Ben Paul said. “I’m also afraid we need to be following them.” At the cemetery office, Ben Paul looked up Angelo Caruso and found his section on a chart.

“Well?” Sylvia asked, finding it unusual to have to pry information from Ben Paul.

“Al Capone.”

Sylvia stopped in her tracks. “Angelo is buried by Al Capone?” She was incredulous.

“Not by him, but nearby, I’m afraid. There are some who marked him as Capone’s man inside the police, one of them, anyway.”

“But you don’t believe that?”

“Absolutely not. He wrote my mother a letter, back… oh, back in ’28, way before the stock market crash. His name was in the news and, well, he cared what my mother heard, what she might think. God used him to save my life. And my mother and Tony, Ellie, and probably Antwan, too.”

“Well, I’d like to pay my respects to La Lama, Mr. Angelo Caruso,” Sylvia said, taking Ben Paul by the arm.

Too near Angelo, they saw gravestones for people Sylvia made mental notes of the names besides Alphonso Capone: Frank and Ralph Capone, Frank Nitti, Sam Giancana, Jake Lingle, and Angelo Genna. Sylvia shuddered seeing the first name Angelo so closely buried by Capone.

At Angelo’s gravesite, Ben Paul prayed aloud, offering gratefulness for everyone the Holy Spirit placed in his, as well as his father’s life, helping to follow God’s calling.

Angelo Romeo Caruso
Born March 7, 1868 Died Oct. 10, 1931
TO DO JUSTLY
TO LOVE MERCY
TO WALK HUMBLY
1290

+++

“I can’t believe we didn’t search out your father’s Bible College while we were in St. Louis,” Sylvia said as they began looking for a motel along about suppertime.

“We were pretty stressed just about the whole time there.”

“You’re telling me! Hearing Malcolm’s story, I don’t know if I was floating or melting into a puddle. But a weight lifted that I didn’t even know was there.”

Ben Paul nodded. “Malcolm and Antwan are going to do something there. I can feel it.”

“That’s the Holy Ghost you’re feeling. And I agree. “There, how’s the Sunnyside Inn sound to you?” Ben Paul pointed at a motel.

“Like breakfast, only I prefer my eggs scrambled.”

Ben Paul laughed. “Looks full anyway.”

“They’ve all looked full.

“I keep wanting to ask, but never had the chance. Your pool game with Antwan… Was that legal? The way you knocked the winning ball in?”

“Guess so. At least Antwan accepted the loss.”

“He was really good about coming through with the money. He didn’t have to.”

“Oh yes, he did. He knows God. He believes. He knew full well what might befall him.”

Sylvia nodded. “I think we’re going to have to get off the main highway to find a motel. Unless you want a hotel in downtown Kansas City?”

“Not particularly.”

“Blue Springs is coming up. Let’s turn right on number 7.”

They found a nice motel within two blocks.

“We didn’t get far,” Sylvia said, her tone disappointed.

“No, but we needed to let Malcolm have it. We could have spent the afternoon sitting around, or getting here.”

Sylvia sighed. “You’re right. It was just hard driving getting out of St. Louis and Chicago, both. I guess I’m not a big-city girl. And then all those trucks! My lands!”

“There certainly wasn’t any passing going on. I wish all that… whatever they were hauling, was on trains like they used to.”

Ben Paul nodded.

“That one time when there was a passing zone and you could see for a mile?” Sylvia looked to Ben Paul to see if he recalled. “And that gasoline truck took the whole time trying to pass the truck ahead of him but ended up slowing down and cutting off the cars that were behind? I was wishing he got a flat tire and had to sit on the side of the road for a few hours.”

Ben Paul chuckled. “Careful, sweetheart. An annoyance can fester into an all-out war, a war you don’t want to fight and you may not win.”

Sylvia looked at Ben Paul as if he was touched in the head.

“Just sayin’.”

“Sandwiches, or a diner?” Slyvia asked. “We have enough bread, but only enough baloney for… well… you.” She closed the Styrofoam cooler cover.

“A half sandwich each and then go out for a Tastee-Freez?”

Sylvia smiled and prepared the sandwich.

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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)
Antwan (Anthony): son of Tony and Ellsabeth Bertelli
Malcolm Richards: the new shelter chaplain
Angelo, La Lama, Caruso: Chicago friend of Ben Sr., Police lieutenant
Al Fresco: St. Louis man who raped and impregnated Ellsabeth, wife of Tony

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A promise kept, and a sermonette

A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons

Ben Paul Persons, Ch. 13

by Wayne Fowler

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