RONALD REAGAN'S EVIL EMPIRE
It had been almost exactly a year. To the day. From 1982 to 1983.
March 9, 1983, one of those rare times when work made it into my personal journal at home.
The night before, the news was filled with President Reagan's speech about the Soviet Union being the 'evil empire', the focus of evil in the world. Those from my dad's community knew what was next - the vilification (red baiting) of Dr. King twenty years previous had been done because of 'communism'. Not communism per se. It's just that every time my dad's colleagues preached civil rights, they were called 'reds'.
So when Pastor Tim came in that Wednesday morning, March 9, it had caught me by surprise. As normal, I was looking forward to precious solo-time at the church as a way of preparing for the week.
It immediately reminded me of Pastor Tim coming in exactly a year earlier in a similar blue funk, almost to the day. At first I thought it had been his own bad reaction to President Reagan's saber-rattling. Alice's pregnancy meant that Pastor Tim had doubled down on peace-work. He had been spending the New Year actively planning for the Ethiopia trip, a second peace & famine sojourn to East Africa.
For only the second time since working with the man, he did not stop in my outer office. Went straight to his and closed the door.
Then who should show up, but Paige Jennings. Completely out of the blue. A school day. Since her baptism in January, her behaviour had gone straight downhill. Baptisms should not have that effect. She spent a lot of time there at the church - in Zach's group, even the choir that was being organized. If there was a group at the church, she joined it. Hung around Tim and Alice's house. So I'd heard through the grapevine. Not my concern, not really. Church Vegas.
But she'd been downright rude to me. That was so un-Paige. Some trivial issue had developed in the youth group, one that Zach had tried to fix. Paige had yelled at him, told him to, and I quote, "screw off."
Now it was Wednesday. A school day. There she was storming into Pastor Tim's office, slamming the door behind her. Slamming it.
I did not note it in my contemporaneous diary, but I will mention it here, if only to discount it. As noted, this church had had a history of pastor-infidelity with parishioners. That was almost a decade previous, and what I'd walked into when I first started. It was only that morning when my mind even remotely contemplated that there might be some hanky panky, listening to Paige chasten Pastor Tim about something. Seeing her later storm out of his office and to the street was so un-Paige. Listening to the quiet in his office, which lasted about 20 minutes, was so un-Tim.
Seeing him eventually leave, saying, "I'm going home to talk with Alice." Something he did not actually need to say, because that Wednesday had been a day-off. Just to say it so as to put it away, ever since that day there has not been a hint of sexual-impropriety by the pastors, neither Tim nor Dale, nor even their successors post-1984. Mamma's Vegas rule notwithstanding, I would not have put up with that.
Something was up. Yet I remembered my dad's words about the role of the person in the outer office. Have the pastor's backs. Be the hub of an information wheel. Feed the pastors the info they needed. Their jobs were hard enough - as they were when I first got here in 1976. Don't be a gossip.
"DEACON" RODERIGUEZ
My sister volunteered at her church's soup kitchen in Baltimore - actually, it was in Columbia to the west of the city. For her birthday in January, I'd driven over to help out. Her church pantry attracted the same set of colourful characters as here who made the streets their home, about whom Dr. King said we should focus our efforts. Not a hand-out, but a hand-up.
To get to the point, that soft-spoken but incessantly chatty Latino-guy was one of those characters. He'd got some food at my sister's pantry a number of times - first in late 1982, and a couple of times into 1983. My sister said his name was 'Manuel Roderiguez', aka. 'The Deacon'. Their food pantry was very lax in asking for I.D. from their patrons; the word on 'The Deacon' was that the name 'Roderiguez' was probably an alias. He variously said he was from Honduras, Guatemala, El Salvador, or southern Mexico in Chiapas. Depending on whose ear he was quietly bending. He was always chattering away about the Catholic Church in Central America, hence his nickname. The other customers at their Pantry gave him a wide berth, lest he drone on about heavenly things which did not interest them - not one whit.
Why am I bending your ear about Señor Roderiguez? "Deacon" Roderiguez? Wait for the reveal below.
A few nights after Paige had stormed into Pastor Tim's office, the Jennings parents came to the church. It must have been in the late afternoon, one of the few days I'd stayed an extra hour. I'd met The Jennings in the parking lot, saw them go in to meet with who I assumed was Pastor Tim. He was the only one left in the building.
The next day, Pastor Tim came in and sat as usual at the stool at the office counter, this time not saying anything in particular. He was deep in thought, not chatty, not 'how was your day', just staring into the air in front of him. I asked him how he was doing. He gave no answer. I asked about the Jennings, who he'd seen the evening before….. he continued in thought, then said, "Is it just coincidence that you get exactly what you need, before you yourself even know you need it?"
What did that mean? I didn't say anything in response, because - what do you say? He then climbed down from the stool, went to his office and closed the door.
Which is my round-about way of stretching this out unduly.
Next week, same night - this time Paige not at the church, but a heavily pregnant Alice arrived with Tim. Me leaving late after another 'free hour' for the church.
So now, to the reveal.
I sat in my car wondering why Alice came to the church so late in the afternoon, almost to the dinner hour. I'll give them this, it explained why Pastor Tim had not had their car in the afternoon.
I was about to start mine when I saw the Jennings drive up and park. I just sat there watching. It took them a good three or four minutes before they got out. There they were, Mr. Jennings, Mrs. Jennings, and…
"Deacon" Roderiguez. The three of them went in an met with Tim & Alice.
IT MADE NO SENSE
By March 1983 I'd been working at Reed Street Church coming up seven years. The church had gone through severe, behind the scenes issues my first three years. Then Pastor Dale came, then Zach, and then Pastor Tim and Alice came, all in 1979.
Since then, Reed Street Church had made me proud. It was not officially the Progressive National Baptist Convention, and it never had my dad's Afro-American style - but for four years, it was what church was supposed to be. Involved.
My dad used to say that a church secretary, even more than the pastor, had a finger on the pulse of the congregation. Even in March 1983, the church's pulse had been strong. Yet there was now something that - no other way of saying it - just did not make sense.
The day after The Jennings had brought Manuel Roderiguez to meet with Pastor Tim and Alice, Tim came to work seemingly 'back to normal'. Sat there on the stool checking in with me, a renewed man. He and Pastor Dale then had one of their morning meetings - to discuss the upcoming trip to Ethiopia - they divvied up responsibilities for the Sunday Service. Then Dale headed out to Wesleyan for classes.
Me, I sat there doing no work. None. I'd never been known to just sit there in the office, doing nothing. Except that day. It was just me and Pastor Tim, and so far there had been no walk-ins. No one asking for food coupons, no parents asking about the youth program, no visits by the board treasurer, the phone was uncharacteristically silent.….. I'd been in the habit of logging all calls, no matter how minor. Me, I was sitting there thinking that if I did not devise a way to ask Pastor Tim about what was bugging me, the day would soon get away.
So I just got up, went out to the hall, and knocked on his door. As I heard his voice, I had no idea how I was going to address it. Office policy was that I would be the one to handle hand-outs to street people in need, maybe that was it….. I was going to slip into the conversation a question about Deacon Roderiguez, and if Pastor Tim had given him some money….
PT: It's open!
J: -opening door- Pastor Tim, do you have a minute?
PT: Sure, Jackie. What's up?
J: Can I sit down?
PT: Can you sit down? Of course you can sit down. Something is eating you.
J: You had a meeting yesterday, late afternoon. I saw Alice come in to join you.
PT: That we did. Alice and I are a team - I mean, our lives are about to change, big time. Please don't worry about her, she's fine. Both of us have the parental jitters, but thank you for your concern.
J: Yes. Well. I also saw Mr and Mrs Jennings come by. I assume they were here to see you - and Alice, I guess. Excuse me for putting it this way, my dad hated it when people are stereotyped…..
PT: You mean, Father Rivas?
J: Father Rivas?
PT: Yes, Father Rivas. From El Salvador. In town for a human rights conference. The Jennings wanted me and Alice to meet him….. well, they knew of my Ecuador days. Father Rivas is a human rights defender in El Salvador.
J: Human rights. El Salvador.
PT: That's right. He impressed both me and Alice. Made me yearn for those times when we were making a difference in Latin America.
-silence-
PT: Jackie!? Anything else? Is everything all right?
J: Ah, er no. So, you didn't give him any money.
PT: Why would I do that? That's your purview. We've discussed that!
J: I'd better get back. Your 10 o'clock usually is a few minutes early. I'll make sure there's fresh coffee.
PT: -silence- Jackie, are you OK? -silence- Hey, Jackie, if this is about Paige Jennings, I should let you know that we're dealing with it. They want you to know that Paige apologizes profusely for being so rude. Everyone's agreed that that was not the 'Paige' that we know. It won't happen again.
J: Oh, no pastor. Everything is fine. I'd better get back.
So, what had I accomplished? With that little foray into the pastor's office? Unsure. There's something going on.
LOOMING TRAGEDY
Then Pastor Tim disappeared. In Africa. Ethiopia. Around church in those days, we called that 'Thursday'. Then a heavily pregnant Alice, hysterical and in tears, passed me a letter. Told me to hold it. On the envelope it said, "To the FBI."
Through tears she said, "Don't send this unless something happens to both Tim and I." She emphasized the 'both'. She asked, "Do you understand?"
No, I did not understand.
