Magnets and Filings

Magnets and Filings

Little Roddy Reddington: everyone loved his name. Aunts, grandmothers, near and distant cousins, teachers, and more than one sweet-smiling little girl. Of course, the guys from Elm Street called him The Rod just as they called Richard, The Dick. The Elm Street studs were like that then.

But people were attracted to Roddy for more than his name: they also liked the nebulous, abstract quality he exhibited from Kindergarten on. It elevated him above his friends who were only rough-and-tumble. Oh, he acquired at least as many cuts, bruises, stubbed toes, jammed thumbs, thorns, burrs, black eyes, and bloody noses as the rest of them, but that obliqueness set him aside.

It was believed by the aesthetes that Roddy's unique quality was what poets strive to capture, composers turn into symphonies, painters master through light. And it proved to be a common denominator to all people.

Once, during vacation, Sharon Goebel rambled from her teenage friends playing a game of grown-up hide and seek with the boys. She stumbled across Roddy who sat, silently, at the edge of the river. She had more on her mind than teasing and hiding. But she felt a wave of peacefulness watching Roddy.

"He's not a saint," Sharon's friends said. "Look at him. I bet in just a couple of years he'll be at least the stud Big Carl is." But as Sharon remembered at him, serene on the river shore, she paid no attention: she wished she had whatever was on the inside of this unusual boy.

It might have surprised many to know that what was inside the grubby by quiet kid from South Elm Street was not mysterious, mystical, certainly not supernatural or even extraordinary. It was nothing more than the ability to appreciate at a subtle level, whether a river, bay, or tree.

But put a rock or a stick in his hand and there was nothing subtle about Roddy. He was real and the wise never forgot it. But it made the non-combatants that much more magnetized. No one was able to explain why a soft, sensitive soul had been dropped into the body of a grimy dock boy.

"A guy like Roddy, he belongs in a garage!" said Stan the grease man.

"Mechanic through and through," said Curt, "but more like fixing the fancy yachts. He's more thanjusta mechanic."

"You mean cause of his sensitive hands?"

"Something like that. Anyway, he's like a pro line backer crocheting doilies. Can't quite figure that one out."

The girls saw him as a Dr. Jekyl-Mr. Hyde. "He boxes and plays football and brawls, yet he's sosweet.. He wasn'tmeantto work on the docks like those gorillas. He needs direction."

One night he got in a fight with a gang from South Side. Slobbering drunk, he stared at his skinned knuckles. Mr. Reddington asked What's-Her-Name what was going on: why was he two people in one? What she said struck home.

"You got what nobody outside of fancy places got, Roddy. You got a soul."

"No kidding," blubbered the boy. "Everybody has one of them."

"I mean asoul, Sweetie. Inside stuff that beats macho to pieces. And the way I see it, you'll commit a Cardinal Sin if you don'tuseit."

It took a while for that to sink in.If you don't use it.

"Whatta ya gonna do?" slurred Rosie through her harelip. "He's the kinda guy even a whore wants to tuck under her wing and coddle."

"I'd love to," said What's-Her-Name, "but I'm afraid he'd fly away."

"I don't know," said Mr. Baxton, the boxing coach. "He slugs like a jackhammer but smiles like a Cherub. Like you don'twantto belt him."

"I know what you mean," said Hoston, the football coach. "He tackles like a bulldozer, then apologizes when he sidelines you."

When Roddy Reddington stared at the well-dressed people at Graduation, he remembered the words,if you don't use it,and for the first time didn't think of raising Hell. Instead, he wondered what he'd do Monday and for the rest of his life. Even he knew he needed direction.

He needed to be alone. Still wearing his tasseled, mortar-hat, he walked to the docks. He sat on a frayed hawser, the kind the tug boats towed the big ships with, looking completely out of place. Absently he glanced across the narrow bay. It was lined by expensive yachts, the owners in white tennis shorts topped by admiral hats. Their bronze tans complimented their outfits.Me, I guess I'll always be Elm Street and dock.

Several young girls, not part of the champagne reception on deck, rowed about in eight-foot dinghies, splashing and having a party of their own. One, sister of Sharon Goebel, began screaming.

"Silly twits," thought Roddy absently. "Capsizing just to get attention -- can't they do anythingreal?"

But the girl wasn't pretending. Her leg had caught in the anchor rope and soon her shouts changed to gurgles.

Instinctively Roddy dove off the high, cargo wharf. Saving the girl was not easy since the rescuer fought a graduation gown while the victim was being pulled down by a non-dinghy anchor. But save her he did, which included a dramatic swim, hoisting her onto the pier, administering CP, all while encouraging her with comforting words.

The members of the Yacht Club admired the boy's courage and quick thinking. They knew his reputation and were happy it was the Dr. Jekyl who had acted.

Revived, the girl looked into Roddy's compassionate eyes and said quietly, "You should be a Priest."

It was the second remark that struck home.

Mrs. Goebel invited the boy into the Yacht Club. The wealthy woman heralded and embraced him, and others followed suit.

"He came out of nowhere, Mama," said Sherri, regaining her ruddy color. "I was going under, I meanreally down, and here comes this guy in a gown and everything and saves me. You saved my life, Roddy Reddington, you saved me!"

The Goebels were impressed by the boy's courage and their daughter's reaction. "What profession are you going into, Roddy?" Meredith asked. The wealthy woman perceived his hemming and hawing not as self-consciousness but as uncertainty.

He needs direction, and there's no better way to reward him than by supporting him.

What happened in the following years cold easily make a long tale out of a short story, just as a one-liner can be stretched into a shaggy dog story. But since the intention here is not to burden the reader with details but convey the direction Roddy ended taking, we will keep it short.

The Goebels took Mr. Reddington under their wing. After much soul searching, they sent him where only the most perceptive could have foreseen: a seminary. When the Elm Street people heard they were shocked, but they also applauded. Of course that Roddy with the sensitive soul belonged in a spiritual community! So, in time, this robust, sensitive young man popped out the other end as the Samaritan of the Bay.

But what specific direction did Roddy Reddington take? An Ordained

Minister, but not one with a safe, indoor congregation. Instead, he scoured the docks, the bars, all the rough spots he was used to, searching for the needy.

Many reports attest to this Johnny-on-the-spot, never-back-down, soft-soul speaker of the Truth: hospital reports, ambulance logs, rescue notes, Police and eye-witness accounts. How many movie stars and yacht owners thought of him as just another dock worker until they saw his soft, self-sacrificing nature in action. More than one exotic, diamond-collared kitten was named after him.

As his future unfolded, Roddy never failed to mention the role his patrons had played. By himself he would certainly have become a dock-working tough: with their help, he became an official saver of souls.

"Isn't that the way it is sometimes?" asked the Minister. "Occasionally we need a boost from the outside. After all, some of us are so full of heat and steam we don't know who we really are. Glory to those who see deeper and guide the confused!"

As a Helper, Roddy followed the free-lance pattern he'd been conditioned to by his Elm Street upbringing. He needed that freedom and, coupled with the training he'd received by the grace of the Goebels, the clergyman helped many that never saw the inside a house of God. So successful were his deeds that many private, big-named organizations and institutions have included hands-on, street-smart programs emulating Roddy's style.

Hopefully you won't need the Minister's services -- they often verge on EMERGENCY -- but don't be surprised if you read of him popping up when help was most needed. Magnets and filings find each other naturally.