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A quote: “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst.” ~~ Aristotle
I’ll start with a story …
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“We take care of our own.”
The first plaque was wood, hung on the outside wall of The Mercantile. Ambitious title for four-walls and a roof standing alone.
Now we’ve got several buildings, The Merc has grown, and the plaque is brass.
New families come to town and are comforted by the message. Life can be rough out here – just last spring Ian Kelly was gored in the groin by a cow he was trying to rescue out of knee-deep mud and died on the spot. The town turned out for his pregnant widow and their small children.
We all built the new church near the end of Main, but the plaque remains on The Merc. Church is for worship, socializing and making sure our seniors aren’t forgotten and our youngsters educated. But sometimes things don’t work right. Could be strangers in town with bad intentions, could be one of our own who takes to hurting others. The large backroom of The Merc is where we figure out what happened and what’s to be done.
We have no jail and don’t plan on ever building one. One way or another, transgressors leave. Upright, north out of town or just south to rest in peace just beyond the Church.
“We take care of our own.”
It’s a promise. It’s a warning.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license.
Cameron says: The door to the church was open and I figured I had nothing to lose. I sat in the pew and prayed quietly. A moment later, the pastor put a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve never seen you before. You all right, son?”
I laughed bitterly. “No sir. I’m very far from that. My car was stolen last night from my hotel and later destroyed, my girlfriend decided that she wasn’t going to follow me out west and the job offer I had was just rescinded. I figure I can at least vent at God for a bit then figure out my next move.”
“And what is the next move?”
“I have money saved up so I can get a Greyhound back home. From there, I can find work and try again.”
“Why not stay here?” he asked. “I’ve got a friend who runs an apprenticeship program and he’s always looking for people. As for your car, I know one of the local dealers. Have him work with the insurance company and get a replacement.”
Years later, I figured that God’s plans for someone aren’t always obvious until later. I still go to that church and help when I can.
It’s good to see the all these little country churches, their cemeteries with the family plots going back to when the US bought Florida off the Spaniards. All nice and quiet.
I’d usually fly home for Christmas — it’s a long way from Chicago to the little town just south of Ocala where I grew up. But this year I decided I didn’t want to deal with the hassles of airport security and hurrying to make your connecting flight and having to either have family pick you up or rent a car. Take two days and drive, maybe even three if I decided to get off the Interstate now and then to see some sights.
As it turned out, I had to leave ahead of a storm that was roaring out of the Great Plains, so there wasn’t much time to stop anywhere until I got south of Nashville. Not a drive I’d want to take again — I was starting to fade in and out by the time I found a decent hotel — but it left more time to look around when I got off I-75 at the Ocala exit.
I’d always heard the jokes about people who didn’t believe in life after death needing to come to Chicago on Election Day. But I’d assumed they were just that — until I went to my new polling place as an Illinois resident, just off Lincoln Park, this past November and encountered a man in a suit almost a century out of date. He looked tired, and told me that if he didn’t get his vote in, the Infernal Revenue Service would “start with the toenails.”
I’d decided not to ask any further questions. From the cut of his clothes, he may well have been a gangster in the Beer Wars of the 20’s. The Nineteen-twenties, that is.
Here our deceased rest in peace as they should. Even in December the grass remains bright and green. As I went by one, the elderly groundskeeper waved to me from his zero-turn riding lawnmower.
It felt so good to wave back.
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