The Mariners Harbor Messiah Read online

  The Mariners

  Harbor Messiah

  Todd Daley

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640

  © 2017 Todd Daley. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 03/30/2017

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-7483-0 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-7482-3 (e)

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

  and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  “Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but the companion of fools suffers harm.”

  Proverbs 13:20

  Contents

  Chapter 1 A Hot Lesson

  Chapter 2 Harbor Resident

  Chapter 3 Superstition

  Chapter 4 The Hermit

  Chapter 5 Saturday Morning

  Chapter 6 Forms of Energy

  Chapter 7 Fallen Angel

  Chapter 8 Big Boned Girl

  Chapter 9 Pretty Invalid

  Chapter 10 A Stray Cat

  Chapter 11 More Wonders

  Chapter 12 Visit to the Hospital

  Chapter 13 Martha and Mary

  Chapter 14 What Is Life?

  Chapter 15 Fishing in the Sea

  Chapter 16 Visit to Elm Park

  Chapter 17 Laws of Motion

  Chapter 18 Home Repairs

  Chapter 19 Brouhaha in a Bar

  Chapter 20 Nobody’s Perfect

  Chapter 21 Work in Progress

  Chapter 22 Lovers’ Lane

  Chapter 23 Visit to the Tugboat

  Chapter 24 Household Chemicals

  Chapter 25 Impromptu Fisticuffs

  Chapter 26 A Time to Build

  Chapter 27 History Class

  Chapter 28 Basketball Game

  Chapter 29 The Elements

  Chapter 30 A Vulgar Experiment

  Chapter 31 Legal Advice

  Chapter 32 Civil War Lesson

  Chapter 33 Complaints and Regrets

  Chapter 34 Celibacy versus Debauchery

  Chapter 35 Coupling Interrupted

  Chapter 36 The Atom

  Chapter 37 Nuclear Energy

  Chapter 38 Hamilton and Burr

  Chapter 39 Hospital Revisited

  Chapter 40 Martha, Martha

  Chapter 41 Angry Cleric

  Chapter 42 Magnetic Lesson

  Chapter 43 Vietnam Remembered

  Chapter 44 Poetry Lesson

  Chapter 45 Rescue at Sea

  Chapter 46 Pumpkin Pie

  Chapter 47 Food Drive

  Chapter 48 Herculean Tug

  Chapter 49 M & M’s

  Chapter 50 Notice to Vacate

  Chapter 51 Supply and Demand

  Chapter 52 Shoveling Snow

  Chapter 53 Marx vs. Keynes

  Chapter 54 Dalton Trumbo

  Chapter 55 Harry the Horse

  Chapter 56 The Story of Buddha

  Chapter 57 Elm Park Revisited

  Chapter 58 Face from the Past

  Chapter 59 The Mockingbird Book

  Chapter 60 Stickball Game

  Chapter 61 Algebra Lesson

  Chapter 62 Heartfelt Talk

  Chapter 63 Life Redux

  Chapter 64 Jake Gardello

  Chapter 65 Charismatic Portrait

  Chapter 66 Reluctant Hero

  Chapter 67 Magnetic Lesson

  Chapter 68 The Elements Redux

  Chapter 69 The Undesirables

  Chapter 70 Coming and Going

  Chapter 71 Messiah Attacked

  Chapter 72 Age of Aquarius

  Chapter 73 Playing for Fun

  Chapter 74 Teachers vs. Students

  Chapter 75 Return to the Cemetery

  Chapter 76 The Last Supper

  Chapter 77 The Apocalypse

  About The Author

  CHAPTER 1

  A Hot Lesson

  Tom drove his old gray 1964 Pontiac along the meandering Richmond Terrace from Mariners Harbor to Port Richmond to West Brighton to St. George. The oldest road on Staten Island, Richmond Terrace was originally an Indian footpath that was widened into a dirt road by British soldiers during the American Revolution. The preternatural warmth of the November morning surprised Tom, forcing him to lower the front windows to get a welcome sea breeze.

  Approaching St. George, he glanced at the New York City skyline, marked by the recently erected twin towers that dominated Lower Manhattan. Tom recalled the first time his mother took him and his sister to Manhattan to see the vaunted skyscrapers—symbols of America’s enterprising spirit. Parking on Hamilton Avenue, the skinny young science teacher trudged up the steep hill, looking anxiously at the formidable gargoyles of Curtis High School’s limestone facade—symbols of the meticulous workmanship of yesteryear.

  On Tom’s desk were two glass jars half-filled with black dirt, through which thermometers were stuck. Both jars had been placed in a sunny window for two hours, prior to the lesson. One jar was open at the top, while the other jar was covered with clear plastic wrap. It was the skinny science teacher’s practice to start off each lesson with an attention-grabbing experiment to motivate his lackadaisical students. The aim of the lesson was written clearly on the blackboard: “What is the greenhouse effect?” Tom had Wendy, a sensuous long-haired teenager, come up and read each thermometer.

  “The open jar has a temperature of seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit, and the covered jar has a temperature of eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit,” she announced in a shrill voice.

  “That’s awesome girl!” exclaimed Barry, a streetwise black youngster. “You should work in a hospital and stick thermometers up people’s asses.”

  “Ah, stick it up your bony ass!” Manny yelled from the back of the room.

  “Why don’t you come up here and try it?” Barry replied angrily.

  “Now cut it out, both of you,” Tom interjected quickly, anxious to avoid a physical confrontation. He knew from past experience that classroom hassles escalate rapidly from verbal to physical, especially on Fridays.

  Moving on, the skinny science teacher asked the class, “What can we conclude from this experiment?”

  “That today was your lucky day, because your practical experiments seldom work,” replied the quick-witted Barry.

  Ignoring the wisecrack, Tom called on Riner, a serious student wearing thick glasses.

  “The plastic cover prevented the heat from escaping the jar,” he replied.

  “What if you put a jar with gasoline in a sunny window?” someone asked from the back of the class.

  “Why don’t you try it in your house and tell us what happened?” Barry said.

  Ronnie, a naive black girl, asserted, “That’s why you shouldn’t leave a dog in your car during the summer.”

  “Especial
ly with the windows closed,” Tom added. “An animal or child left in a car in the heat of summer would suffer heat prostration within a matter of minutes.”

  Barry raised his hand, and Tom waited for the inevitable negative remark. “So what does all this have to do with the greenhouse effect?”

  “I’m really glad you asked that question,” Tom said, relieved that the troublesome youngster didn’t go off on a tangent.

  “I know,” said Riner. “The earth’s temperature is rising because the gases polluting the atmosphere trap the heat. Just like the plastic wrap did with the glass jar.”

  “Way to go, Coke-bottle glasses!” interjected the irrepressible Barry.

  Ignoring the latter’s impudent remarks, Tom explained that such atmospheric gases as carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrous oxide act like the glass of a greenhouse to trap the earth’s heat. Elaborating, the young science teacher lectured, “The earth’s atmosphere allows the sun’s shortwaves such as light, ultraviolet rays, and infrared rays to pass through, but it blocks the earth’s long waves (low-energy infrared rays). Over time this heats up the earth, causing global temperatures to rise.”

  “That’s fine with me. I wouldn’t mind warmer winters,” Manny replied.

  “Okay, but if the earth’s average temperature rises by more than a few degrees, the polar ice caps will melt and ocean levels will rise by several feet, flooding coastal areas—including Staten Island and Manhattan,” Tom responded.

  “And the burning of fossil fuels sends millions of tons of toxic pollutants into the atmosphere every year, which are harmful to plants and animals,” Riner added.

  “We should use alternate energy sources like wind and solar energy,” Wendy suggested.

  “Put a windmill in your own backyard, while I’ll let Con Ed run my TV,” Manny yelled from the back of the room.

  “To each his own,” Tom said ruefully as the bell rang and his students dashed for the door, unconcerned about air pollution, global warming, and other environmental issues. The optimism of young people cuts like a two-way sword, simultaneously creating and negating needed innovations.

  CHAPTER 2

  Harbor Resident

  As Tom walked down Morningstar Road, he felt so warm that he removed his jacket. He recalled chilly November days when a coat and a hat were needed for such a walk. Global warming was not an invention of a few eccentric scientists. On the plus side, the skinny science teacher hoped the upcoming winter would be mild enough to make snow shoveling unnecessary. He heard some church bells tolling as he ambled along the gently sloping Morningstar Road.

  He wondered about the origin of its quaint name. The Island’s earliest settlers were Dutch. Did a colonial Dutchman observe Venus trekking down this very road, from whence its quaint name was given? Was there an Eveningstar Road somewhere else on Staten Island? Turning west on Richmond Terrace, Tom headed for the Mariners Harbor waterfront, which faced the gray choppy waters of the Kill Van Kull. After a while, the abandoned Bethlehem Steel shipyard was before him, in its ramshackle splendor.

  He always enjoyed looking at the defunct shipyard—a hodgepodge of rickety warehouses, rotting docks, flaking hulks, and corroded ships with their rusty anchors. From the time of his boyhood, Tom found this maritime scene soothing to his frayed nerves and disquieting thoughts. Although it had its rewards, teaching adolescents wore a person down like few other jobs, with the possible exception of assembly-line worker. None of his friends understood Tom’s attachment to the run-down Mariners Harbor waterfront. His high school sweetheart, Joanie Gardello, had observed that “the harbor has seen better days. It’s not what you would call picturesque.”

  Strolling along the sidewalk, the young science teacher noticed a person living in one of the abandoned ships—a ramshackle tugboat. He was a sturdy young man in a T-shirt and dungarees. He was bent over a fishing pole. Then, he pulled up and cast out the line one hundred feet over the murky water. Tom noticed a wire running from a utility pole on the roadside to the tugboat, apparently drawing electricity for the squatter’s use. “You can’t beat American ingenuity,” Tom said to himself with a chuckle. “And Con Ed won’t miss the few kilowatts stolen from its coal-powered grid.”

  Intrigued by the spectacle, Tom walked carefully on the rotting wharf, which led to the tugboat. The stranger waved to Tom and signaled him to come aboard his tugboat. Again Tom heard the pealing of church bells deep in the Harbor.

  “Is this your home?” Tom asked as he cautiously stepped onto the tugboat, which was clean despite being in a state of disrepair.

  “Indeed it is. As they say, there’s no place like home. Ain’t fancy but it has all the amenities. And it’s bigger than it looks—there are two cabins below,” said the stranger, who identified himself as Amon.

  “I’ve seen worse in my day,” Tom replied diplomatically.

  “I’m sure you have,” Amon responded, which gave Tom pause.

  “I walk down here all the time. But this is the first time I’ve seen somebody living in one of those boats. Where are you from? You don’t sound like a New Yorker.”

  “I’ve been all around this country—north, south, east, west. It’s all good,” Amon replied.

  “America’s a great place, but I like Staten Island. I’m a native New Yorker,” Tom declared proudly.

  “I don’t know. I detect South Jersey or Philly in your past.”

  “As a matter of fact, I lived in Bloomington, New Jersey, as a kid. It was a farming area. So I’m city and country—a hybrid of sorts,” the young teacher said, amazed at the stranger’s acuity.

  The stranger was deeply tanned, like someone who had spent much time outdoors. His age was indeterminate. He might have been in his twenties or thirties. And his dark complexion, jet-black hair, and piercing dark-brown eyes rendered his ethnic identity indeterminate, as well. Amon could have been Italian, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Asian, or possibly Native American.

  For no particular reason other than curiosity, Tom asked Amon what his plans were for the future.

  “My plans? I haven’t figured it out yet. Let’s just say I want to do some good in the world,” he replied solemnly.

  “Well, as a teacher, I start with an objective, formulate a plan, and then implement the plan,” Tom said in an offhand way.

  “Nonetheless, it’s good to be in the heart of New York City, the origin of so many worthwhile endeavors,” Amon asserted.

  “I wouldn’t call Mariners Harbor the heart of New York City or even the heart of Staten Island.”

  “I like harbors. All the world’s great cities are built on

  harbors—New York, San Francisco, London, Paris, Amsterdam, and Rio de Janeiro,” Amon stated, looking toward the brackish water of the Kill Van Kull. Then staring at Tom intensely, Amon said, “So you’re a schoolteacher … of what subject?”

  “I teach science, chemistry, and physics at Curtis High School. I deal with facts—that is, facts linked by scientific laws.”

  “Facts about the world as it is or as it should be? Teaching is a noble profession. You do God’s work,” the stranger observed.

  Pausing momentarily, Tom asked Amon if he was some kind of a preacher. He remembered the soapbox preacher in the city who had scared Joanie with his strange talk of impending doom. Stemming from his childhood experiences with scary nuns, Tom had ambivalent feelings about organized religion. He also had problems with the doctrine of trinity, especially the Holy Ghost.

  “I’m not a man of the cloth. I’m just a person trying to find his way. The world needs more love and understanding and less violence and greed,” he replied.

  “I can’t argue with that. But unless you’re John D. Rockefeller, you have to spend a good part of each day earning your bread. The law of supply and demand forces us to be realistic, rather than idealistic,” Tom asserted.

  Changing the subj
ect, Amon mentioned Curtis High School. “Isn’t that the impressive building with those devilish gargoyles in the front?”

  “One and the same. Those damned stone gargoyles used to scare the hell out of me. They’re a solemn warning to both students and teachers that education is a serious business,” Tom said grimly.

  “Teachers are special people. Jesus was a teacher of sorts. His disciples called him Rabboni, meaning ‘teacher,’” Amon asserted.

  “Some of my students do want to crucify me. Seems like everybody in America is either a teacher or a student. Unlike the apostles who talked about the hereafter, we deal in the here and the now.”

  “You have an ironic sense of humor. What is your name?” the stranger asked.

  “Tom Haley from Elm Park, at your service.”

  Lyndon Johnson

  Lyndon Johnson assumed the presidency in 1963 after the assassination of President Kennedy in Dallas, Texas. He ran on his own in 1964 and was elected by a huge margin. LBJ never forgot his humble origins in southwest Texas, where he began adult life as a teacher of Mexican American children. His favorite biblical verse was “Come now, and let us reason together.” As a legislator, LBJ was able to push many laws through Congress because of his ability to compromise. In 1937, Lyndon Johnson was elected to Congress as a Democrat, promoting Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal and working for rural electrification. With regard to foreign policy, President Johnson was rigid, escalating the Vietnam War from 16,000 to 550,000 combat troops in the late 1960s. Widespread opposition to the war forced Johnson to abandon his plans for another term in 1968.

  In addition to increasing American troop strength in Vietnam, LBJ started an extensive bombing campaign against North Vietnam. The unintended consequence of this heavy bombing was to bring regular North Vietnamese troops into the war. American army bases were attacked by these troops, allied with the Viet Cong, throughout South Vietnam. The war bogged down to a bloody stalemate with mounting casualties on both sides—and no way out for Johnson.