His name was Tommy - later he told me he was over 65, but I'd already guessed he'd been retired for a while. He was packing my bags at Publix - something about his open face and my clerical collar created a mutual attraction. "Are you a minister?" he asked. "An Episcopal priest." Without missing a beat, we began chatting away and somehow discovered that we were both Pennsylvania Yankees transplanted into King Cotton's Court.
I never let those folks carry out my bags, but he insisted. "C'mon" he said. "This way we can talk." Since I'd parked at the edge of the lot, the distance provided a nice space for conversation. He was from Altoona, a city I have driven through countless times on my way to and from college, Harrisburg and Philadelphia. We both remembered the huge diner at the turn on Route 22 - recalled their great milkshakes and our favorites from their "blue plate special" menu. He drove a bread truck for years - ended up owning the company, in fact. Then he moved to Florida to start another successful business. All had gone well, until retirement - when he had lost all of his savings in the market downturn. He and his wife had moved up to Atlanta to be with two of his four sons. He rattled off their names, ages,and professions to me - proud as a peacock of them, two police officers, a lawyer and a businessman. The two sons had moved back to Florida for work, and now he and his wife were alone in Decatur - unable to sell their home and follow their family.
We commiserated about our mutual dislike of Atlanta - whispering together like co-conspirators. He called me pastor, and told me stories of his childhood in a Polish Catholic family - replete with strict, demanding nuns, regular duties as an altar boy, and the life long practice of saying the rosary, which he added, takes him only seventeen minutes!
We shared a belly laugh over the many similarities of our backgrounds - Irish and Polish Catholics are like peas in a pod. He's the first person I've met in 40 years that also has a set of "glow in the dark" rosary beads! He promised to give me a holy card and some handmade rosaries, next time we met. He left, cautioning me to not start drinking, like so many of the priests and nuns he had known in his life!
Men like Tommy make me homesick! They make me remember and long for the people of the Steel Valleys of metropolitan Pittsburgh. I loved living in that ethnic hodgepodge - so many people came from so many different places - eastern Europe, Italy, Germany, Ireland, and other parts of the British Isles. They are the salt of the earth, who love life and persevere, endure like rocks, always rallying even when life gives them a good kick in the pants. These folks provided a rich context, a intricate tapestry, for my early upbringing. With names like Scalercio, Russo, Brennan, Olsen, Entwhistle, Kmetyk, Cronin, Chirumbolo, McIntosh and Woytanowicz. Like Tommy, these folks were stocky and strong, no strangers to hard, physical work, not above taking a drink or two on a Saturday night. These were lovers of baked ziti, kielbasa, homemade shortbread, blood pudding, stuffed cabbage, and a host of charming traditions and rituals brought from a variety of "old countries." They lived in small houses clustered together on narrow, winding streets and sides of hilltops - not one driveway or two-car garage among them. Their kids shared beds as well as bedrooms, had paper routes and full-time summer jobs in order to help out, or get enough to go to the nearby Community College when it was time. The ones of my generation were often the first to finish high school or to even consider a bachelors degree. But the unifying value, regardless of ethnic background, was that their kids would have it better, easier, richer, fuller, than they had. Life there was hard, but always,somehow, joyous, as well...life lived full out, with bravado, passion, but always laughter even amidst grim determination.
There was a level of instant intimacy between Tommy and me that I've experienced with other folks raised Catholic. Episcopal priests are different, of course, but they trust us because we are similar enough to the men and women religious who lived among them, taught, pastored, counseled and danced with them at weddings and CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) mixers ..."just one time, now, leaving room for the Holy Spirit..." I've been stopped in hospitals, doctor's offices, airports, gas stations and once leaving the ladies room at Arby's - and been asked for a word of advice, a prayer or a blessing by current and former Catholics.
The encounter with Tommy delighted me - exhilarated me, in fact. I left pondering how soon I could return to the market on the chance we might meet and talk again. The encounter had all the earmarks of a sign, though, of what, I am not yet clear. But it sure felt in the brief interlude, like I'd been "entertaining angels unaware."
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