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One Rough Boy
At midnight, a serious looking teenager covered in the grit and grime of weeks of tramping and living rough came knocking impatiently on our door. He had no suitcase or package but kept on asking the same pathetic question, "Can I come in and stay with you, Mister?" I told him, "You will have to ask the director, Bill." The Director's bedroom was through a dark hallway, lit by a tiny red sanctuary light. We knocked and waited.
When it eventually opened, a yawning Father Bob was still searching around for his glasses. The slight little figure stood before him still asking, "Can I stay here awhile, mister?" After pulling himself together, the Director paused and then said sternly, "Where are your suitcase and your other things?" The boy's answer opened our home and our hearts to him. "Mister," he said, "this is all I am!"
Many boys had already been to court for stealing and shoplifting before they arrived at our door. These were the commonest offences. We tried hard to keep them from getting into trouble again, but unfortunately, we were not always careful enough.
Hot Fingers
On one occasion, I took a boy with me on a shopping trip to Hutchinson, Kansas, naively assuming that he had overcome his temptation to steal. Everything was going well until the following day. Most of the boys sported three or four Shiny "Jesus Saves" badges on their tee shirts. "Had some marvelous spiritual renewal taken place?" I puzzled. Then, the truth dawned! This light fingered one had stuffed handfuls of multicolor button badges into his pockets in the Bible shop and shared them out among the boys. After a scolding, he gathered them up and returned them with his apologies to the Bible Bookstore.
Another time, the boys went on a camping trip to Marx in Colorado and were invited to stop off for dinner in Denver. While the host was preparing the meal, we relaxed in a spacious and expensively furnished dining room displaying a collection of silver trophies. The boys curiously picked up the many fascinating porcelain trinkets that our host had gathered on her sightseeing trips to Europe. A casual remark by one boy set all the alarm bells within me ringing! "Cap, this is a thief's paradise!"
Fortunately, our bus driver Doyle Gates, also heard these words and together we steered everyone as discreetly as we could into another less vulnerable area.
Many boys were really "rough stones" and found great difficulty speaking in St. Francis' Chapel. "Ray," I said once to a very solemn boy, "you read that service beautifully." "Read it," he replied with an expressionless gaze, "I know the thing by heart!"
Faded Mementoes
Seven years later, I journeyed back to the place in Hayes where I had first begun. There, fluttering on the posts and barbed wire fences, were the red, blue and yellow rags I had tied when I first arrived. Tattered and faded, they still fluttered in the breeze, mementos of experiences and adventures. In the prairie lands, there are no street signs or trees for markers. A more methodical person might have counted the number of sections of farmland he had passed on the road.
My only way of remembering where people lived was to tie different pieces of colored cloth on their ranch fences. Blue meant "church" people. Red was for Roman Catholic and yellow indicated no church at all! My rainbow of rags could be another fellow's parish notebook! The friendly and warm-hearted Kansas folk were from many cultural backgrounds. I really hated leaving when the time eventually came. Easterners remarked to me cynically, "The people of Kansas have to be good because there's nothing else to do!" These folk inspired me more than ever before. I wanted to reach out in friendship to everyone I met, despite the many dusty miles that often lay between us.
"Mister," he said, "this is all I am!"
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