Showing posts with label Short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short story. Show all posts

Thursday, July 24, 2008

July In Happy Creek

July in Happy Creek
By
F. Thomas Rondy
[this is copy writed material not reproduction via any means without the expressed permission of the author]


It has been an unusual past several weeks in Happy Creek, MI, my home town. The annual 4th of July parade down Main Street was as grand and glorious setting the mood for the day’s event. Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Four H’s Clubs, Future Famer’s of America, various church groups,and the American Legion Band stirred our patriotic emotions as they marched the route or rode on homemade floats. The crowd was enthusiastic waving American Flags. Happy Creek was a picture post card of patriotism that day. A Norman Rockwell glimpse of Americana at its best

The picnic was held at Hap’s Homestead as usual. Families brought their favorite picnic dishes to share. The food was placed on an extra long table in front of Hap’s Cabin. Pop was cooled in vast wash tubs filled with ice at each end of the table. The kids were allowed to run wild as they played softball or enjoyed themselves in some of the inflatable games or jumping tents. The young people went wading in Hap’s Creek or played volleyball. Some even wandered away for a while to sneak kisses out in the woods. The adults enjoyed horse shoes, three legged races, or just sitting in the shade talking with friends and neighbors. A grand time was had by all as they awaited twilight when the fireworks would commence.

Twilight descended upon Hap’s Homestead. Violet Crandall stepped on to the wood constructed platform which was draped with bunting and lined with American Flags. Violet and I were in the same class at Happy Creek High School. Violet distinguished herself as a singer. She was in the choir and sang solos at all the school and civic events ever since I can remember. She graduated from the Interlocken Conservatory of Music, was awarded a PhD. in vocal performance from Julliard. After several years in the chorus, she became the lead alto in the Metropolitan Opera Company. She retired from the Met last year moving back to Happy Creek.

She has been singing the National Anthem each year since 1957 and this year would be no exception. Violet was welcomed to the stage with thunderous applause. People just loved to hear her sing. She is one of Happy Creek's most famous citizens. The crowd was enthralled with her singing. The spell was broken when she began the last phrase, “…Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave ov’r the land of the free and the home of the brave.” For some unexplainable reason, a June bug though her mouth would be a good place to land. And, it did causing Violet to gag and cough. Embarrassed and humiliated she left the stage immediately without finishing the song. Some were shocked. Others cried openly. Several ran back stage to comfort Violet. Violet was inconsolable. She apologized to Mrs. Cripps, the organizer of the platform entertainment, saying how deeply sorry she was for ruining the song and the day’s activities. Mrs. Cripps hugged her, “There, there, honey it’s alright. We understand.”

The band played on. The fireworks began. Bang. Boom, boom. Oh’s and ah’s went up from the crowd. It was a grand and glorious night. Everyone enjoyed the 4th.

Well, not everyone. Violet’s head hung low and her hands covered her tear swollen eyes. Why had the June bug landed in her mouth? In all of her years of singing, this had never happened before. Why had it happened tonight?

Across town, Amy Lou and Ted, her son sat comfortably in the living room of their home. They had not attended the 4th of July celebrations. They were not too keen on community events. Keeping mostly to themselves except for Sunday visits to the John Calvin Covenanter Presbyterian Church.

Amy Lou and Ted were not long time residents of Happy Creek. They moved here in February after she purchased Mildred’s Hair Salon and Emporium and Mildred’s house as well. Mildred was Happy Creek’s hair stylist for the last sixty-five years. She died one evening in January after locking up the Hair Salon and Emporium. She died in her sleep. Mildred was 89 years old when she passed.

Neal Boyer, the real estate agent, told everyone Amy Lou paid cash for both transactions. Eyebrows were raised. Questions asked. Who was Amy Lou Sommers? Where did she get the money? Why, had she come to Happy Creek? These and other questions captured the imaginations of Happy Creek’s town folk. Amy Lou Sommers’ name was on the top of the gossip list for a month or so until most of them realized she was a nice young lady, a good hair stylist, and that Ted was an honor roll student and good at computers. He worked part time for “The Geek Squad.”

The folks over at John Calvin Covenanter Presbyterian Church don’t get too many visitors. The Covenanters are hyper Calvinistic. Staunch theologians and legalist. Like Calvin, the Covenanters would prefer the community to be run by the Church. Happy Creek’s other citizens hold a different opinion. Happy Creek is a diversified community of various denominations and ethnic groups. The Covenanters like to think of themselves as, “Defenders of the Faith.” You know those who keep the Church true, holy, and pure. A clannish group who can trace their ancestors back to the Ulsters. They refuse to participate in the Happy Creek ministerial association because it allows the Roman Catholic priest and the Jewish rabbi to be members.

The Covenanters were a bit taken back when Ms. Amy Lou Sommers and her son, Ted, visited them in March. She was cordially welcomed with a tad of suspicion thrown in for good measure. Amy Lou and Ted returned on a regular basis because it was only two blocks from their home.

She talked with Reverend William Campbell about becoming a member. Bells and whistles of suspicion began to go off in the good reverend’s head. He informed Amy Lou that he would take her request to the Consistory. He, also, informed her that the Consistory would meet twice to discuss her request. The first meeting would be open to the congregation for any comments the members might have. The second meeting would be a vote to receive her as a member. God only knows why Presbyterians vote people into or out of the church.

The first Consistory meeting took place the Monday after the first Sunday in July. The pastor, the elders, and most of the congregation were in attendance. The Stated Clerk kept minutes. During the discussion, it was noted that Amy Lou is an avowed Pescatarian and her son is a fan boy and both are addicted to Edamame. No one present knew what a Pescatarian was. They were certain, however, that no one like that should be a part of their church.

Mrs. Mary Jane McDonnell, the high school substances abuse counselor, told the Board and congregation about the dangers of addiction. “We have to think of our children,” she insisted. “We cannot tolerate anyone with an addiction to be a part of our God-fearing church.” The others agreed with her. A recommendation was made only to allow Amy Lou and Ted membership in the church after they both promised to disavow their devotion to Pescatarism and after six months of rehabilitation for being addictive to Edamame.

Others began to share some unusual things that happened to them since Ms. Sommers began attending their church. Michael McTavish worked for Happy Creek’s Utility Department. He told about an incident in May which startled him. He was in a cherry picker replacing a burn out light bulb when a bird flying over head “unloaded” on him causing him to drop the new light bulb and stumbling in the cheery picker. This had never happened to him before. He believed that the Pescatarian Amy Lou had something to do with it.

Mrs. Edith O’Brian told the group about Amy Lou’s cat. It was pitch black. The kind you see associated with witches during Halloween, which of course, the Covenanters avoid like the devil himself. Edith stated the cat’s name was “Druid.” “Now, who on earth gives a name like that to a cat?” she asked. “Mark my words, only a pagan witch would call her cat, Druid. I stopped going to her beauty shop when I found out she was a witch.”

The unanimous vote agreed that Amy Lou and Ted would not be allowed to be members of John Calvin Covenanter Presbyterian Church. A letter of the vote including the recommendation was sent to Ms. Amy Lou Sommers. The Stated Clerk wrote a PS, “Our hope is that you will abandon your pagan ways and come to the Truth of the Gospel. We pray for your soul.”

Amy Lou and Ted never set foot again in John Calvin Covenanter Presbyterian Church. She found another church which accepted her as a Pescatarian. In fact this church had a group of Pescatarian who met monthly. Her cat, “Drew Ed,” still warms itself in the beauty shop’s window and greets all of her customers with a welcoming “meow.”

Rumors can distort the truth. Coincident can lead to suspicions. Suspicions become paranoia. Lack of knowledge is often thought of as truth. It is difficult to explain things to people who have their minds fixated on paranoia and suspicions. Difficult as well to explain the read truth to those who are too busy playing with their mental blocks to listen.

So that’s the way it was this July in Happy Creek, Michigan, my hometown where 99% of the people are happy. It is a privilege to live in Happy Creek, the most fun place on earth to raise a family.

F. Thomas Rondy
©July, 2008

Thursday, May 29, 2008

My Church by F. Thomas Rondy


F. Thomas has been a friend of my since early childhood. This post will be longer than usual because it is a short story. This is a work of fiction and no part may be used without the expressed permission of the author.


I went to church last Sunday for the first time in five years. A flyer addressed to “Our Friendly Neighbor” at my address came in the mail on Wednesday inviting me to attend services. It aroused my curiosity. How did they know I was a ‘friendly neighbor”? I reside in a bedroom community 20 miles away from their campus now, that’s some neighborhood. The flyer mentioned the campus as being the old Lady Madonna University. I graduated from Lady Madonna with a BS, major in Montessori, some fifteen years ago when it was operated by the Sisters of Contemplative Education. So, I said, what the heck, it will be good to see the old campus and I’ve got nothing to do on Sunday anyway, so I’ll go.

I drove to the Lady Madonna campus which was now “My Church, A Global Ministry of Willie George Barker” Pulling into the main drive way, I noticed that the statue of our Lady had been removed. In its place was a global sculpture with a large digital message board arching above the road. With busting firecrackers, the scrolled message said, “Welcome to My Church where the Lord is praised and His work is done.” It continued to flash the times of services along with other events. Once on the campus, the winding road leads me to the old stadium which now had a dome on it. I searched for a parking space, row after row, after row until I found one in section X aisle 6. Finally, after locating a parking space way, I began the long trek to the stadium excuse me the ‘worship center.’

During my walk a friendly guy in a bus with “My Church Transit System” painted on the side, picked me up, gave me a brochure, engaged me in small talk about my relationship with the Lord and dropped me off at the front door of the massive building. Stepping from the bus, I heard him talking with someone on a cell phone in hushed tones, Brother Arnold this is Sam, have a middle aged man, not a born again Christian, and has not been to church in 5 years. Now, I’m not paranoid by nature but I was the only single man on the bus who fit that description, the other passengers were parents with small or teen age children. All of them had been given balloon sculptures by a street clown who welcomed them to My Church.

A man introduced himself to me as Brother Arnold as I stepped inside the remodeled stadium. He glad handed me like a used car salesman. Every now and then, I could still smell the stench of the jocks’ locker room. Ah, the memories of days gone by. That’s another story in its self. Looking around while exchanging pleasantries with Brother Arnold, I felt like I was in the Mall of America. People were gathering, standing in line, and sitting at tables in a Starbucks Coffee Shop which Brother Arnold explained as being the first shop in the BM [Believers Mall]. It was a vision of one of Brother Willie George Barker and a member, who had a Starbuck franchise, to make people feel at home while at church. Ten percent of the proceeds went to the church.

Brother Arnold took me on a stroll around the BM pointing out the various stores along the way. Here’s our Christian Book and Gift shop stocked only with Christian books by such noted Christian authors as LaHaye, Falwell, Bakker, Oliver North, and such. Adults and parents don’t have to worry about seeing a Harry Potter book in here no sir. Christian books and only Christian books including the King James Version of the Bible,” he said.

Stepping inside the bookstore, I notice a display of books by Willie George Barker. Several caught my eye: “The 10 Things I Taught Rick Warren: The Miracles of a Purpose Driven Church.” Brother Barker seems to be a prolific writer having written more than one hundred books. “What Will You Do Without the Lord?” “Hell, It’s Your Choice.” “Street Evangelism: the old fashioned way.”

Leaving the bookstore we came to a small grocery store, “God’s Storehouse.” All the organic food is grown in the “The Fields Are White Unto Harvest” hot house and organic garden where once the Sisters of Contemplative Education had their garden located on the southern edge of the campus. The soil in “The Field Are White Unto Harvest” garden has been sanitized to free it from all pollutants and pesticides including any taint of Roman Catholicism ensuring clean and pure vegetables. Each seed is prayed over and sprinkled with holy water from the Jordan River prior to planting assuring a good harvest. Brother Arnold told me a truck delivers the ‘holy water’ twice a week.

As we left the grocery store, I mentioned to Brother Arnold that I was a Roman Catholic. He enjoyed it when I called him, ‘brother,’ made him feel as though we had connected somehow. When he heard I was Catholic, he put his arm on my shoulder, patted me on the back in his used car salesman manner and said, “Brother Willie George will help you see the light. I was miffed. I didn’t desire to be enlightened by Willie George. The only Willie I wanted to enlighten me was Willie Nelson. I more than ever wanted to be “On the road again.”

There were many other stores and shops in the BM which encircled the worship center including The Daughters’ of the King Beauty Shop, a video arcade [which allows only Christian video games such as “Joshua vs. Jericho,” “Warriors for Jesus,” “Bible Man vs. Unbelievers” and “Jesus vs. the Temple Money Changers”, an indoor play area such as found at McDonalds and Burger King. The video arcade and the play area teemed with youth and children screaming, yelling, and running wild as if possessed by something.

A blue light began flickering throughout the BM and a voice from the overhead speakers announced, ‘worship will begin in 15 minutes.’ It was like the ‘blue light specials at K-Mart.’ People began to run or walk rapidly toward the nearest worship center door. It was total bedlam. Almost to the door, which was jam packed with people pushing and shoving trying to be the first to get in, When the doors opened, a loud noise blew over us. People began to shout, “Its Pure Crimson Blood.” Shouting over the ever increasing noise, Arnold said it was My Church’s Christian Rock Band. Pure Crimson Blood sounded to me like someone who had tripped out on some bad acid.

I decided that My Church was not My Church and would never be My Church. I told Arnold, I needed to use the facilities. Brother Arnold pointed down the BM to the facilities. I could hear him say, “Don’t take too long,” as I beat a hasty retreat to my car.

F. Thomas Rondy
©January, 2008