One

I was eighteen years old when I first heard a simple, biblical presentation of the Christian gospel. I had been working in the food commissary of the Raytheon manufacturing plant about 10 miles west of Boston. It was here where I met Cavanaugh, a big, sandy-hair truck driver who was constantly spouting off Bible verses and little sermons at every opportunity. I had been warned by some of the other employees to either ignore him or humor him, whichever I felt more beneficial, or he would give me no peace. I tried the second approach.

This particular afternoon he was backing his small truck into the loading dock, ready to unload a shipment of canned fruit and vegetables. “How am I doing, Ralph?” came the voice from inside the truck.

“You’re OK. Hold it right there,” I called.

The truck stopped with a jolt and Cavanaugh hopped out of the cab and came toward me. He was about thirty-eight years old and always wearing an infectious grin.

“Well, what’s your answer?” he asked.

“Answer to what?” I replied.

“To the question I asked you the other day. Where are you going when you die?”

I laughed and shook my head. “I told you before, straight upstairs. I’m a nice guy. You just don’t believe me.”

He grinned and unhooked the tailgate. Then he climbed inside the truck and grabbed a case of canned tomatoes. He came out and laid the case on my shoulder.

“You know, I’m in no position to judge other people, and I don’t doubt that you lead a pretty decent life,” he said. “But the Bible teaches that our salvation depends upon what we believe, and not necessarily on what we do.”

“I know that getting to heaven depends a lot on your faith,” I said, balancing the tomatoes. “My church teaches that too.” Then I hauled the tomatoes into the stockroom.

“Cavanaugh out there giving you a sermon?”

I turned to see Eddie, the assistant cook, dragging a sack of potatoes from the shelf. “Yeah,” I said, “but he seems like a nice guy.”

“Oh, he’s a nice guy, all right,” Eddie said “You just have to keep agreeing with him, that’s all. Eventually he’ll get tired and leave you alone. That’s what I did.”

I went back outside and found Cavanaugh talking to the cafeteria manager. I knew he would not continue his preaching while the boss was around. He glanced at me knowingly, then continued to pile cases on my shoulder and whistling what I suspected was some kind of hymn. We finally got the truck emptied, the boss standing there all the while checking off what we had unloaded.

“Hey, Cav, it’s just about quitting time,” I said. “Which way you heading?”

“C’mon, hop in,” he said. “I can swing by your place.”

“Great,” I said. I went inside to punch out.

Eddie was next to the clock. “You drive with him and he’ll drive you crazy.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” I said. “Everybody has their little thing that keeps them going.”

I went back outside and scrambled into the cab of the truck. “All set,” I said to Cav.

During the ride back toward Watertown, Cav kept up an incessant barrage of Bible verses and religious quotes in which I hadn’t the slightest interest. I had heard about people like him before, but had never met one personally, my Roman Catholic background being mainly responsible for this. I half agreed with everything he said as he rattled on.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he finally said. “This Sunday afternoon Jack Wyrtzen will be holding a rally in Boston. Suppose I pick you up and we go hear him?”

“I really don’t think I’d be interested, Cav,” I said. “Besides, I’ll probably be busy playing ball.”

“Well suppose it’s raining and you don’t have anything else to do?”

I looked at him. “Who says it’s going to rain?”

He grinned. “Hey, you never know.”

For some unknown reason I assumed the chances for rain that day to be slim, and not wanting to offend Cav, I finally agreed.

“You can drop me off at the high school ball park,” I said. “My kid brother Tony’s pitching today and I should be able to see the last couple of innings.”

Cav let me off at the park and I went in and began looking for my father. He owned and drove his own taxi and always took the afternoon off whenever Tony had a game. I found him standing behind the backstop yelling encouragement to Tony who was on the pitcher’s mound. For as long as I could remember he had lectured Tony and me about the importance of becoming something in the sports world because those who just worked for a living earning an ordinary week’s pay never got anywhere in life. He always used himself as an example of this, even though I considered our family to be just as well off financially as most people I knew. My father had been born and brought up in Boston’s west end, and had contracted polio in his right leg when he was six years old. But he had gotten married and bought a home in Watertown just after I had been born. The move had been a financial strain for him, but he had been determined to have plenty of green grass and playgrounds on which his sons could develop their baseball abilities. He was a short man with wavy black hair and powerfully built arms, and was undisputed master in his own home.

I walked over to him. “What’s the score?”

“Four to four,” he said, still looking out at the field. “Your brother just walked two men.”

The batter lined the next pitch into left field scoring the tie breaking run and causing Dad to slam his hand against the fence and start muttering to himself. But Tony finally pitched his way out of the inning without further damage and Dad settled down.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“Over there in the car,” he motioned, without taking his eyes from the playing field. I went over to the car and climbed in beside my mother.

“Is your father getting all worked up over there?” she said.

“I’ll give you one guess,” I said as I hunched over the steering wheel.

“I get nervous when he comes to these games,” she said. “The doctor warned him that a person with his heart condition has no business getting all worked up and excited at these ballgames.”

Dad had suffered a heart attack a few years ago and occasionally experienced chest pains and shortness of breath, especially when he was upset about something. Mom and I were constantly after him to take things easy, but he never seemed to listen.

(Continued...)