Turning Points
Life is a journey. It has a beginning and it has an end. All along its path are events, places
and people who are turning points. Here, I relate some of these turning points in my own
journey. Hopefully, the stories will illuminate and maybe entertain some of those who care
enough to read.
Life is a journey. It has a beginning and it has an end. All along its path are events, places
and people who are turning points. Here, I relate some of these turning points in my own
journey. Hopefully, the stories will illuminate and maybe entertain some of those who care
enough to read.
| Barry Rogers March 24, 2006 |
Among all the kids in New Haven that made up my
social circle, Barry Rogers was at once, the closest and
the worst influence. He was slightly shorter than I, the
same age, but my superior as he excelled in sandlot
baseball, basketball, football and plotting mischievous
deeds.
Barry lived about two blocks away on Center Street next
to the Big Store. He had two twin sisters both of whom
social circle, Barry Rogers was at once, the closest and
the worst influence. He was slightly shorter than I, the
same age, but my superior as he excelled in sandlot
baseball, basketball, football and plotting mischievous
deeds.
Barry lived about two blocks away on Center Street next
to the Big Store. He had two twin sisters both of whom
were deaf. His dad worked at the Gulf service station on the corner of Main and Center streets.
Barry was always in trouble at school for mis-deeds and by my association with him, I shared a
good bit of his bad reputation. Among other nefarious deeds, he concocted schemes for us to
steal apples and peaches after dark from the trees of numerous town citizens’ back yards. Not to
be excluded among these victims was Father Gettlefinger.
On one particularly hot and moonlit summer evening, Barry and I sneaked into the small,
unfenced stand of fruit trees across the alley from the rectory of St. Catherine’s Church. We were
stealthily harvesting ripe peaches in the shadows of the trees when we heard the footfalls of
someone walking up the pavement. Freezing suddenly, we held our breath as the footfalls
stopped. We moved not a hair when after a moment of silence that seemed endless, we heard
the voice of Father Gettlefinger. Unsure as to what he had heard in the darkness of the trees, he
called out, “Who’s there?” We made not a peep.
Maybe afraid to come into the darkened trees to investigate the rustling noise, he waited another
long silence before finally resuming his evening walk slowly up the sidewalk to the rectory door.
We lost not a second in our escape from the crime scene leaving most of the loot behind and that
was the last time I pilfered peaches from the church grove. But Barry and I had less fear of the
dead than of Father Gettlefinger and raided numerous apple trees in backyards of homes next to
the church cemetery by sneaking through the tombstones and climbing the fence.
Our friendship had its lapses. On one occasion when Barry made me the object of insults about
my glasses, calling me "Four Eyes" once too often, I dared him to meet me after school. He took
up the challenge and when we arrived at the spot in the alley behind the gymnasium, I threw a few
punches that luckily found their target and he retired from the match. I couldn’t believe I had
actually come out on top in a fistfight with Barry Rogers. But my heady prowess didn’t last long as
a few days later on my daily walk home from school I ran into Larry Hall.
Larry was another of my classmates. He was also the town bully. Larry needed very little pretext to
intimidate me with his threats. Being bigger by a head and some girth as well, his bluster was a
source of great fear to me although I don’t recall that he ever laid a hand on me.
I was pretty fleet of foot in those days and it saved my bacon more than once.
Barry was always in trouble at school for mis-deeds and by my association with him, I shared a
good bit of his bad reputation. Among other nefarious deeds, he concocted schemes for us to
steal apples and peaches after dark from the trees of numerous town citizens’ back yards. Not to
be excluded among these victims was Father Gettlefinger.
On one particularly hot and moonlit summer evening, Barry and I sneaked into the small,
unfenced stand of fruit trees across the alley from the rectory of St. Catherine’s Church. We were
stealthily harvesting ripe peaches in the shadows of the trees when we heard the footfalls of
someone walking up the pavement. Freezing suddenly, we held our breath as the footfalls
stopped. We moved not a hair when after a moment of silence that seemed endless, we heard
the voice of Father Gettlefinger. Unsure as to what he had heard in the darkness of the trees, he
called out, “Who’s there?” We made not a peep.
Maybe afraid to come into the darkened trees to investigate the rustling noise, he waited another
long silence before finally resuming his evening walk slowly up the sidewalk to the rectory door.
We lost not a second in our escape from the crime scene leaving most of the loot behind and that
was the last time I pilfered peaches from the church grove. But Barry and I had less fear of the
dead than of Father Gettlefinger and raided numerous apple trees in backyards of homes next to
the church cemetery by sneaking through the tombstones and climbing the fence.
Our friendship had its lapses. On one occasion when Barry made me the object of insults about
my glasses, calling me "Four Eyes" once too often, I dared him to meet me after school. He took
up the challenge and when we arrived at the spot in the alley behind the gymnasium, I threw a few
punches that luckily found their target and he retired from the match. I couldn’t believe I had
actually come out on top in a fistfight with Barry Rogers. But my heady prowess didn’t last long as
a few days later on my daily walk home from school I ran into Larry Hall.
Larry was another of my classmates. He was also the town bully. Larry needed very little pretext to
intimidate me with his threats. Being bigger by a head and some girth as well, his bluster was a
source of great fear to me although I don’t recall that he ever laid a hand on me.
I was pretty fleet of foot in those days and it saved my bacon more than once.
| Copyright © 2005 leoshoemaker.com |
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| And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28 KJV) |
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