For years I remembered his face as clearly as the day we met. Probably because the circumstances of our meeting were so utterly peculiar and out of place. More likely, because his spirit touched me in a way that emblazoned his brief existence in my life into conscious and everlasting memory. When I try to picture him now though, I can’t.
Being a young police officer, and working on Christmas Eve, I guess I expected to spend a shift in solitude with my thoughts, or at least relative solitude. Even when working in a larger city, there are still those rare and wonderful shifts where the world goes to sleep. A perfect storm of silence, where no husband decides to drink a quart of gin and then turn the family into punching bags. Traffic is greatly diminished, and for those who decide to move about, a decision is made to hand over keys to those more capable. The trickle-down effect of quietness tells the would-be robbers and thieves that the time is not right; and so the city sleeps. Those shifts are rare gems indeed, and Christmas Eve is typically one of those nights.
However, December 24th, 1993, would prove itself otherwise.
When the call came in, it sounded extremely peculiar. “Alpha482, take a report of a young child hanging around in the gutter area of 660 Main Street”. Christmas Eve in New England is typically not meant for outdoor play and gutters aren’t such a great place for young kids to hang anyway. When I pulled up on the call, things were more complicated than I had expected. Kneeling before me on the sidewalk, not wearing a winter jacket, and picking through the trash in the gutter, was a six year old boy. As I exited my cruiser, the owner of the convenient store popped his head out of his shop to speak to me. “I was the one who called”, he said. “That little boy lives in the upstairs apartment, but he keeps coming outside and walking up and down the gutters collecting trash, I’m not sure what is happening”. “Ok, thank you, I will try and figure out what’s going on”, I said.
“Hey pal, what’s up?” “Oh, hi officer, how are you?” The look on his face was priceless. Lithe and slender, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, the beaming face looked up from the sidewalk. “Hey pal, what’s going on?” “Oh, nothing, I’m just getting ornaments for the tree”, he said. I looked around as though, somehow I was missing something. “What tree is that pal?” I asked. “My tree, it’s inside, you wanna see it?”. “Sure”. He invited me inside and we both entered the doorway of 660 A Main Street, ascending the darkened stairs to the top of a small hallway. He opened the door to the apartment and invited me inside. “Hey pal, is mom or dad home, I think we need to speak to them”. “Oh no, I don’t have a dad, and my mom is working, she will be home in a couple days”. The scene before me was not good.
The apartment consisted of three rooms. A small bathroom, a bedroom, and one larger room that was a combination, living area and utility kitchen. The condition of the apartment was deplorable. The bathroom was riddled in filth and scum. Human feces edged the toilet and there was only cold running water in the sink. The bedroom was uninhabitable. There was a small wooden dresser in the corner of the room that was covered in old rotted food that had dried on the surface. Old makeup containers, and trash were strewn on the bed. Used condoms littered the floor as evidence of the mother’s failure to clean up her workplace at the end of the day. The living space had no television, no radio, nothing electrical. In fact there were no cords throughout the entire apartment had there been an electrical appliance that needed to be plugged in. There was an old, torn, rotted couch that sat in the middle of the room and a coffee table that looked like it was stolen from a college dorm room, perched directly in front of the couch. There was not one table in the apartment. The only flat surface on which to place an object was the worn and battered coffee table. The apartment was essentially empty. Void of furniture, living essentials, parents, or hope.
There was, however, another item in the apartment that I quickly discovered. It was the young man’s older sister. She was sitting on the couch huddled up when I first walked in, so I did not see her. However, the young man promptly spoke up and performed the proper greetings. “This is my older sister Kristen, she is shy, but I take care of her”. The tone in his voice did not fit the apartment. There was a resplendent brightness that was splashed across his face. The corners of his smile, along with his rag a muffin hairdo, did not speak of pain or sadness. His spirit was alive and well and it was a beautiful thing to see. “Where is mom, pal?” I asked. “Oh, she’s gone for work”. “When was the last time she was home?” “Oh, about a week ago”. A large tub of Teddie Peanut Butter sat on the table as the children’s daily source for all three meals. All around the floor were small packages of single serving soup crackers, taken from the downstairs convenient store by the “father of the family”. I would like to tell you that these children were without hope as I have seen so many, in such far worse conditions with desperation as their only voice, but I can’t do it. This young man fought despair and refused to allow darkness to enter his life. How that happened, given a lot such as his, is answered only by someone far better than me. I continued to scan the apartment as I began the process of gathering up the kids to take them off to a new life, and then I saw it.
Placed in the corner, leaned against the wall, and adorned in the most incredible display of Christmas wonder imaginable, sat the little tree. It was leaned against the wall because there was no stand. I moved closer to get a better look at the ornaments. Placed asunder throughout the tree, by the loving touch of a little brother, were the tops of cans. Lots of tops, from lots of cans, gathered from the street in a shopping spree quite like no other. The tree itself was merely a branch, broken and gathered from a nearby cemetery.
But on this Christmas Eve, there in the apartment at 660 Main Street, it was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. I don’t know what happened to that boy, but I think of him all the time and wonder…
Being a young police officer, and working on Christmas Eve, I guess I expected to spend a shift in solitude with my thoughts, or at least relative solitude. Even when working in a larger city, there are still those rare and wonderful shifts where the world goes to sleep. A perfect storm of silence, where no husband decides to drink a quart of gin and then turn the family into punching bags. Traffic is greatly diminished, and for those who decide to move about, a decision is made to hand over keys to those more capable. The trickle-down effect of quietness tells the would-be robbers and thieves that the time is not right; and so the city sleeps. Those shifts are rare gems indeed, and Christmas Eve is typically one of those nights.
However, December 24th, 1993, would prove itself otherwise.
When the call came in, it sounded extremely peculiar. “Alpha482, take a report of a young child hanging around in the gutter area of 660 Main Street”. Christmas Eve in New England is typically not meant for outdoor play and gutters aren’t such a great place for young kids to hang anyway. When I pulled up on the call, things were more complicated than I had expected. Kneeling before me on the sidewalk, not wearing a winter jacket, and picking through the trash in the gutter, was a six year old boy. As I exited my cruiser, the owner of the convenient store popped his head out of his shop to speak to me. “I was the one who called”, he said. “That little boy lives in the upstairs apartment, but he keeps coming outside and walking up and down the gutters collecting trash, I’m not sure what is happening”. “Ok, thank you, I will try and figure out what’s going on”, I said.
“Hey pal, what’s up?” “Oh, hi officer, how are you?” The look on his face was priceless. Lithe and slender, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, the beaming face looked up from the sidewalk. “Hey pal, what’s going on?” “Oh, nothing, I’m just getting ornaments for the tree”, he said. I looked around as though, somehow I was missing something. “What tree is that pal?” I asked. “My tree, it’s inside, you wanna see it?”. “Sure”. He invited me inside and we both entered the doorway of 660 A Main Street, ascending the darkened stairs to the top of a small hallway. He opened the door to the apartment and invited me inside. “Hey pal, is mom or dad home, I think we need to speak to them”. “Oh no, I don’t have a dad, and my mom is working, she will be home in a couple days”. The scene before me was not good.
The apartment consisted of three rooms. A small bathroom, a bedroom, and one larger room that was a combination, living area and utility kitchen. The condition of the apartment was deplorable. The bathroom was riddled in filth and scum. Human feces edged the toilet and there was only cold running water in the sink. The bedroom was uninhabitable. There was a small wooden dresser in the corner of the room that was covered in old rotted food that had dried on the surface. Old makeup containers, and trash were strewn on the bed. Used condoms littered the floor as evidence of the mother’s failure to clean up her workplace at the end of the day. The living space had no television, no radio, nothing electrical. In fact there were no cords throughout the entire apartment had there been an electrical appliance that needed to be plugged in. There was an old, torn, rotted couch that sat in the middle of the room and a coffee table that looked like it was stolen from a college dorm room, perched directly in front of the couch. There was not one table in the apartment. The only flat surface on which to place an object was the worn and battered coffee table. The apartment was essentially empty. Void of furniture, living essentials, parents, or hope.
There was, however, another item in the apartment that I quickly discovered. It was the young man’s older sister. She was sitting on the couch huddled up when I first walked in, so I did not see her. However, the young man promptly spoke up and performed the proper greetings. “This is my older sister Kristen, she is shy, but I take care of her”. The tone in his voice did not fit the apartment. There was a resplendent brightness that was splashed across his face. The corners of his smile, along with his rag a muffin hairdo, did not speak of pain or sadness. His spirit was alive and well and it was a beautiful thing to see. “Where is mom, pal?” I asked. “Oh, she’s gone for work”. “When was the last time she was home?” “Oh, about a week ago”. A large tub of Teddie Peanut Butter sat on the table as the children’s daily source for all three meals. All around the floor were small packages of single serving soup crackers, taken from the downstairs convenient store by the “father of the family”. I would like to tell you that these children were without hope as I have seen so many, in such far worse conditions with desperation as their only voice, but I can’t do it. This young man fought despair and refused to allow darkness to enter his life. How that happened, given a lot such as his, is answered only by someone far better than me. I continued to scan the apartment as I began the process of gathering up the kids to take them off to a new life, and then I saw it.
Placed in the corner, leaned against the wall, and adorned in the most incredible display of Christmas wonder imaginable, sat the little tree. It was leaned against the wall because there was no stand. I moved closer to get a better look at the ornaments. Placed asunder throughout the tree, by the loving touch of a little brother, were the tops of cans. Lots of tops, from lots of cans, gathered from the street in a shopping spree quite like no other. The tree itself was merely a branch, broken and gathered from a nearby cemetery.
But on this Christmas Eve, there in the apartment at 660 Main Street, it was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. I don’t know what happened to that boy, but I think of him all the time and wonder…