His Working Class Hero

I was a man that was essentially unknown in the world. I was no-one special nor did I have any fame, but the job that I did changed the world. Of course it was not the world that you lived in or the world that was televised on the black and white tube, but I made miracles. I changed the lives of kids in ways that almost nobody else in the world could do. That of course was part of my job description, but I didn’t work a typical eight to five schedule. My job was an extension of me, of my soul and something I knew I would never be able to live without.

I knew that no one would talk about the things that I had accomplished in life nor would I ever have a monument erected in my honor, but I knew that in my short twenty-eight years on this planet, I had accomplished more then people did in a lifetime. But I wanted none of what I wasn’t offered, all I wanted was to change lives, to help and as I pulled up to the St. Francis church I couldn’t help but smile.

I had looked after little Timothy since I started working as a social worker five years ago. No one had wanted him; no one thought that he was good enough but to me he was one of the brightest stars that I had ever had the chance of knowing. He was a quiet boy, but then again it was understandable. Young Timothy was abandoned at the age of three by this mother on the steps of St. Francis. It was all like the Hollywood movies depicted it.

It was a cold rainy night when his mother’s car pulled up to the steps of St. Francis. He did not remember much about her, but little Timothy remembered everything about that night; that night was the majority of memories that haunted Timothy. He would tell me about it like it all happened yesterday. He would tell me how her crumbled up green dressed pooled at her thighs and how her green translucent scarf covered up her dark brown wavy hair. I saw the tears that streamed down her face and how she apologized to him countless times before she left him on the steps.

“Just stand right there Timothy. Mama just needs to go somewhere where you can’t go and once I’m done with my errands I’ll be back baby.” She reached her hand up and wiped the tears from his pale cheeks. “Tim don’t cry please. Mama will be back one day and you will have a normal family. A family where your mama isn’t eighteen; a family where you will have a father figure in your life.” She pressed a single kiss to Tim’s forehead, leaving a red lipstick mark on it. She gave him one more order to stand there as she pressed the doorbell and quickly jutted to the car.

Tim looked after her and watched as her car disappeared and fear over took his body. He was alone and even in his very young age he understood that his mother was never coming for him and that he would never have a normal family. The door opened behind him and he turned around looking up he saw a nun standing in the doorway, a light illuminating from the inside made her look like an angel. She looked both ways down the road and a smile came to her lips as she looked at the young boy. He was beautiful and innocent and was now her responsibility.

“I’m sister Teresa honey, why don’t you come inside with me and I’ll give you some hot Chocolate.”

Timothy and sister Teresa had told the story to me often and I had taken both stories and combined them, creating a movie in my mind of Timothy’s life. I had put a face to his mother and I had put the tears on Tim’s face, but one thing I couldn’t put to make the story perfect was a family for Timothy.

I took a deep breath as I stepped out of my Renault 10 and placed the Ray Ban Wayfarers over my eyes. It was a warm bright Monday in June. It was common for it to be warm in Hinesville, Georgia but 1967 was an unusually warm year and I was worried that the upcoming winter would be unusually cold.

“Why mister, what kind of car is that?” A young paperboy asked me as he stopped next to my car and looked up at me. He wore simple knee length shorts and a beige and red-stripped t-shirt. The bag full of papers lay in the basked that was positioned between the two handlebars. I knew I had to be getting inside but I couldn’t pass by a good story.

“It’s a Renault 10 kiddo, it’s a car that came straight from France. It’s unique in many ways, but the most unique feature about it is that I’m probably the only person in Georgia that owns one.” The boy cocked his eyebrow and hunched forward a bit, examining the little blue car. A whistle passed his lips as he looked back to me.

“You got a sweet machine there mister. I wish my old man drove something as cool as that but he’s just out of it.” I couldn’t help but laugh and pat the boy on the head.

“Don’t worry kiddo, when you are old enough you will have wheels that are better then mine. My car would be old and out of it by that time.” I told him as I looked both ways and crossed the street to St. Francis. I had known this place too well. Every free chance that I had I came here to spend time with little Timothy. In part I always felt bad that no one wanted to adopt him. He was a quiet boy with almost no friends; everyone needed someone to talk too, even nine-year-old boys.

Walking in to the foster house there was a lot of commotion going on, banners and decorations were being hung up by the nuns and children all over the place. A big shot southern millionaire donated a lot of money to the place recently and they were throwing a big party for him. He came from old money, money that was gained on plantations years and years ago. He had recently adopted a child; little Susie and he had respected the kind of education and character that the nuns at Saint Francis had implanted into the girl.

He had respected it so much that he gave millions to St. Francis. That money was gladly accepted because they were slowly but surely going broke. They didn’t want to admit it, especially to me, but everyone knew that if something wasn’t done within a year they would have to close the place down.

Sister Teresa walked out of the kitchen and instantly noticed me. A smile came to her lips; within the past four years I had gotten to know her very well. She was the closest thing that Tim had to a mother and I was the only male influence that he had in his life. In a way we influenced the kind of person that he would be in life, we gave him the building blocks for his future and prayed that he used them well.

“Jonathan, how good it is to see you today. Tim has been asking when you will come by again, it has been a week and it’s unusual for you to stay away that long.” She told me as she came up to me, the wrinkles that covered her face became more and more evident to me.
“There was reason Sister Teresa, I had found a potential family for Tim and had to make sure that they were good. You know how bad I want a home for him.” Sister Teresa nodded her head and began walking to the stairs as I followed behind her. They all knew me here but too see the children that were living here, you had to be escorted by a nun.

“That’s great to hear Jonathan, if he goes I will miss him greatly but I want a home for him more then anything else. He’s going places because he’s an intelligent boy but he needs a home to foster that. I’m afraid that if he stays here all the greatness that he has building up inside of him will disappear.” Sister Teresa told me as we walked up the stairs. However, all conversation on that topic seized as we approached his room. Opening the door she walked in first and I quickly followed behind her.

There I saw him sitting on his wobbly bed reading a book that I had brought him during my last visit. It was a book that was a tad advanced for his age, but I knew Tim and I knew that he liked a challenge, even at his young age. It was one of my favorite books to read when I was growing up and my version was old and crumbled but it was magnificent. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz had taught me things that no other book could. Imagination could get you anywhere but kindness was the key to being a great person.

“How is that read going for you buddy?” I asked him a smile on my lips. His head jutted up and the smile that overtook his face covered all of his young features.

“Uncle Johnny! I missed you this week. I wanted to talk to you about the book days ago but you didn’t come.” I saw the sadness on his face. I knew that I was one of three people that he had ever really had a normal loving conversation with.

“Well Timmy, there was reason for it. I had found you a potential family and today I came to take you to their home and see if they were any good, I wanted to see how you would get along with them.” At my word’s I saw worry on his face. This wasn’t the first time that I had told him about a potential family but none of them were good enough. Most kids were never asked for their opinion on the family and I didn’t ask many about theirs, but to me it mattered that Timothy was able to get along with the family before he settled down with them.

However, most of the time that a potential family failed wasn’t on his accord, it was because they didn’t want him. They thought of him as weird and awkward, a shy little boy that would never amount to anything. The problem was that they didn’t know him like I knew him or how sister Teresa knew him. He was advanced for his age, a boy with a head on his shoulders.

“I really hope they like me. I don’t want to spend my whole life here. I love everyone here but it’s hard watching your friends getting picked and you are left alone.” I smiled as I ruffled his hair and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Well kiddo, I hope you get picked too but before we meet them I wanted to take you to a dinner. It’s this happening place out in Savannah and that’s where mister and misses Foreman live.” He took the dried up rose that lay on his bed and placed it into the book; that was his bookmark. It was something that I showed him because I had always carried a dried tulip in my books. Of course plastic covered it so that it wouldn’t fall apart, but it added a burst of color to the black and white pages.

“Can I pack my suitcase just in case if they do pick me?” I laughed as I got up and looked toward Sister Teresa. She held a worried look on her features. He had always asked to pack his suitcase when a potential family came and we always agreed that he was building himself up for heartbreak.

“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves kiddo. Let’s meet them first and see if they are any good. There’s always time to pack your stuff. Now let’s have Sister Teresa dress you in your Sunday best and we’ll go. We want you look perfect for this meeting.” He nodded his head as I walked out of the room that housed ten boys at a time and headed down to the foyer to wait for him.

Little did I know that Monday, June 8, 1967 would be a day that not only changed his life but my own as well.