Thursday, May 8, 2014

One Mighty Fine Woman


In an April posting, I related the conversation I’d had with Dad before moving to Dayton. He’d advised me to take circuitous routes to my first post-convent job, but I didn’t listen to him and took the same route each day.
         The men sitting on cardboard and huddled in doorways got used to seeing me each morning. One by one, they began to approach me or to speak to me from their hidey-holes.


         They didn’t “hit on” me, as Dad had feared. They simply asked for money. I always gave them whatever change or dollar bills I had. I’d been taught that we could come upon Jesus unawares and not recognize him. In my mind, these men were Jesus. I couldn’t say no.


            One day Bill, the vice-president who’d hired me, glanced over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to the dimly lit stairs leading up to the publishing firm. He saw me handing money to a man sitting on the sidewalk, his back against a wall.
         “Thank you, Ma’am,” the drifter said and smiled. A serene smile over the gaps of missing teeth. Surely Jesus.           
           I walked on to where Bill waited.
         “Dee, don’t give these guys money,” he said.
         “They might be Jesus.”
         “What?”
         I explained. He shook his head. “If you have to give them something, tell them you’ll buy breakfast for them. Ten to one they won’t take you up on it. They’re looking for booze money.”


           As he spoke, I looked through the plate-glass window of the cafe next door where customers, seated in the Naugahyde-clad booths lining the wall and at the counter, were wolfing down food. I could easily envision Jesus and I eating there. Bill’s suggestion made ultimate sense.
         And so in the year I worked at Pflaum, I ate breakfast with several of those men who inhabited the sidewalks, their heads drooping between tented knees. As we ate, they shared their life stories with me. Most were simply down on their luck.


            One had a different definition of woman from what I’d learned in the convent Scholasticate or as a Girl Scout.
         On the spring day he and I met, I wore a new dress. Short-sleeved. Bright yellow splotched with white daisies. A narrow belt.
           I was standing across from the office, waiting for the light to change. A man in soiled clothing lurched toward me. His face sported whiskers and dirt. His straggly blond hair hung lank against his hunched shoulders. This is Jesus I thought.
            I started to dig for coins.
            “Ma’am, you’re one mighty fine woman,” he mumbled.
            Startled, I dropped the coins, which clattered to the sidewalk, some rolling off the curb and into the gutter. I quickly stooped to pick them up, my thoughts scrambled. He’s talking about my figure. This dress is too clingy. My body’s not hidden in black serge. He can see the outline of my bosom. I covered it with my purse.
            “Did ya hear what I told ya? One damn fine woman,” he slurred.
            “Thank you.”
            “Real perky.”
            “Thank you.”
            The light changed. I started across. He followed.
            “One damn fine figure of a woman.”
            “Thank you.” I was walking faster.
            “I’m tellin’ ya the truth, Ma’am. One mighty fine figure.”
            “Thank you.”
            I wanted to run, but this was Jesus. He might smell like whiskey, but who says Jesus has to be a teetotaler? He was the most famous brewer of all time. Witness Cana. Who says he has to wear newly laundered clothes? This was Jesus.


            Turning toward him, I said, “How’d you like some breakfast?”
         Now he was the startled one. Then a grin spread across his grimy face.          
          We shared a meal, and I discovered that Jesus, called Hank on that day in Dayton, was a man of philosophical bent. He had just gotten lost in the cracks.
         And I?
         I was one mighty fine figure of a woman.
         Damn fine.

All photographs from Wikipedia.





40 comments:

  1. Dee, you were as strange to them as they first appeared to you. You saw their light and Hank saw yours. So moved he had to try to express it to you. Your innocence and naivete must have been completely disarming. Bill gave you some mighty fine advice, too. But what a book of wonder you have lived.

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    1. Dear Joanne, thank you for sharing your thoughts on this story from my life. And thank you also for using the words "book of wonder." I've never thought of my life--or really anyone's life--that way and you've given me a way to think about all the people I meet. Peace.

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  2. Thank you Dee. Giving money, giving breakfast were both fine things. Actually looking past the dirt, the shabbiness, the booze and talking to these men was an amazing thing.
    Thank you.
    And I echo Joanne's comment.

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    1. Dear EC, you know my understanding of what the nuns had tried to teach me in grade and high school was probably a little faulty and I've journeyed all of my life to discover its meaning and to discover also what the word "God" means and how belief in a god encompasses my experiences. And what I've arrived at his the idea of Oneness. That all of us are caught up in divinity and we are One at the deep center of Mystery. Peace.

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  3. Dee, I love your heart. I love you seeing Jesus in them. And you know what? I believe you encountered Jesus more than once in them.

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    1. Dear Shelly, on this day--Mother's Day--I'm so aware that the "heart" you love was shaped by my mother. She has been the greatest blessing of my life. Peace.

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  4. This is a wonderful remembrance, Dee. I clicked on and read your story of the "real" woman and sewing, too. As one who drips blood after sewing as well, I relate. The people we meet teach us so much. And to remember that each one is Jesus can bring much treasure into life. Thanks for writing.

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    1. Dear Deanna, so glad to see a comment from you. Tomorrow I'll hurry on over to your blog to discover what you are writing about now. Thanks so much for reading the other stories. I know how busy everyone is and to devote that time to this blog humbles me. Peace.

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  5. Hank saw far more in you than just your outward appearance, Dee. You're a mighty fine woman through and through.

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    1. Dear Perpetua, thank you. I seldom see anyone on the streets anymore because I don't want in the downtown area where I live. But I do see men standing with signs at the freeway exits. I've never given anything to them because I don't want to hold up traffic. And yet I wonder just how that jibes with what I say I believe. Peace.

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  6. Oh, Gosh, Dee, I am feeling humbled by this post, and by the others who have already commented. I must remember when I am accosted for money to give by realizing that the Universe may be presenting me with Jesus in disguise. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do.

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    1. Dear DJan, you know it's just that I tend to see people as reflections of the One Mystery that connects all of us. Sometimes that's hard because I can't see behind something that I don't like in someone else and then I have to work at my own philosophy and theology and accept the mystery of human personality. It's so true that we are all works in progress. Peace.

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  7. Awesome thing to do to help them, but yeah that figure one would sure have made me want to run haha

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    1. Dear Pat, you know I never felt unsafe on those Dayton streets. I never felt that these men threatened me. There was to me, in those days, a real innocence. Peace.

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  8. What a wonderful story. Thanks for sharing it.

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    1. Dear Bill, thank you for your kind words. This on-line memoir really is simply all the stories I can remember from a long life. And I so enjoy sharing them. My hope is that they will prompt stories from the readers' lives as well. Peace.

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  9. Dee, As usual, your writing is so beautiful, as is your story. I admire you more than ever.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, I've made a commitment to myself about writing and I started today. It's Mother's Day and I'm asking my mom to be with me as I work on the Bronze-Age Greece story. Peace.

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    1. Dear Arleen, Thank you! You know when I was growing up, Mom didn't let my brother and I say any cuss word--so words like "darn" and "damn" weren't allowed. And anytime I use the word "damn," I still feel a little naughty!!!!!! Peace.

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  11. Excellent advice from your boss to offer them breakfast. Every person has a story to tell and an empty belly to fill. When I lived on the streets for a summer as a teenager I met all kinds of interesting people. Many of those guys became very protective of me. You can't judge a book by the cover--how true. And--yes--you never know where Jesus may turn up. ;)

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    1. Dear Rita, it was excellent advice and I got to meet interesting people because of it. I hope that when you have some good days, you will add to your own on-line memoir--your second blog. Your life has been so filled with adventure. It's as Joanne says in the first comment for this posting--your life has been a "book of wonder." Peace.

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  12. You no longer surprise me, Dee! :-) You are extraordinary through and through, and there's a pattern of beautifully aligned predictability. You are definitely a gem, to see Jesus, or the potential of Jesus, in every person. What a wonderful, wonderful recollection, Dee. I know you look for ways to bless others in everything you continue to do. ox

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    1. Dear Debra, Mystery or Oneness or whatever a person calls that which unites all of us is my word for God. And I think that Oneness--God--speaks to me through humans and animals and nature. What's important to me as I grow and journey through life is exploring ways to listen for that Oneness. It's opening my mind and heart and will to that which unites us. Peace.

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  13. Oh I love this story. Sadly I wouldn't have gone the extra mile you did for Hank but am delighted you did. You ARE a mighty fine woman.

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti, I'm so pleased you "loved" this story. I bet that you yourself have gone "the extra mile" for many people you've met. They have touched your life and you have surely touched them. Peace.

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  14. Dee, this has to be the best post ever! Everything you have done in your life, I have admired, but this takes the cake! See all my exclamation points here! Wow, you are indeed a mighty fine woman and I am proud to be your friend!

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    1. Dear Inger, I'm just delighted--tickled pink!--that you liked this post and its story of Dayton. And let me say that I'm proud that you are my friend too. Peace.

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  15. I loved this post, Dee! The man was right -- you were and are a damn fine woman!

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    1. Dear Kathy, you know I'm surprised at all these comment saying that the readers "loved" this story. It seems such a simple story to me, but as I've read the comments I realize that it does reveal something about me--that I've searched for Oneness all my life. It's not just something I came to believe in my fifties. But it's been there, or the kernel of it has, since I was really young. Peace.

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  16. Mighty fine, indeed!
    As always, Dee, this segment illustrated your life-long mission of kindness to others, no matter their circumstance, but, it also brought out your sense of humor. I often comment about the people Jesus associated with. The beggars and prostitutes and such, but, this is my first appreciation of Jesus as a vintner in your delightful phrasing of "I wanted to run, but this was Jesus. He might smell like whiskey, but who says Jesus has to be a teetotaler? He was the most famous brewer of all time."

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    1. Dear Penny, I'm glad you see my sense of humor here. I do have a good sense of humor and it's because of being able to find what's funny about something that I've survived what the psychiatrists tell me were hard times. When you tell me that you find some "delightful phrasing" in something I write, I'm so pleased because I so admire your writing. Peace.

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  17. What a great story about Jesus - and you are mighty fine for eating breakfast with so many people in dire need.

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    1. Dear LadyFi, you know those men did something "mighty fine" for me too. I learned a lot of being human from them. Peace.

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  18. What experiences you had! You gave them more than a good meal.

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    1. Dear Susan, yes, we all have had so many experiences that we could write about for many years. At some point, I want to do a little reflecting on what I've learned from these experiences! Peace.

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  19. I too believe in the fact that its better to give food than money.

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  20. Dear Haddock, Yes, and I also believe that it's best to teach a person to fish than to simply give that person a fish. But not all is possible even at the best of times. Peace.

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  21. wow, you have a lot more courage than most people!! thank you for this post.

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    1. Dear Mimi, thanks for thinking I have a lot of courage. I've never thought about that. I think we basically do what feels right to us. Peace.

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