FELICITY STREET

FELICITY STREET

It is the last week in June of 1967.  I am driving down Felicity Street in my white 1957 Olds heading to the beach on the lakefront for a day of fun in the sun.  Everyone will be out girl watching today, just as they do every Saturday.  While daydreaming about the possibilities, I pass through a traffic light on the corner of Camp Street and Felicity.

Suddenly I hear tires screeching in front of me and I see the cars ahead of me are stopped!  In a split second I slam on the brakes.  For some reason an image of a family reunion long ago flashes in my mind.  My car stops.

Almost immediately, my eyes are diverted to the sidewalk where an old man sits calmly on a bench lighting a pipe.  He seems to be working very hard to light it.  His concentration is intense.  Trying to maintain focus on the situation in front of me, I am mesmerized by the image of this man and can’t stop turning and staring.  With traffic now at a standstill I open the door and get out of the car.  My walking to the curb and standing in front of him doesn’t even get his attention.

I hear police sirens screaming toward me.  I can’t see but there must have been an accident further up Felicity Street that caused traffic to stop. 

The little man gently compresses the tobacco with a finger and attempts again to light the pipe.  A multicolored wool fedora rests just over the frames of his glasses, with his white, wavy hair, perhaps a bit too long, sticking out from under the brim.  He’s wearing a brown tweed sport coat, with vest and tie, and dark brown pants.  He seems a bit overdressed to be sitting outside the local Laundromat, but maybe he too, has a big day planned.  His face isn’t overly wrinkled but still shows his age.  Time has been kind to him.  Smoke begins rising from the pipe bowl.  He makes several deep drags to ensure the fire is drawn deep into the bowl.  The pipe draws with little effort.  His face disappears in the resulting plume.

It’s a comical vision at first, but soon the smoke clears.  In a nearly imperceptible upturn of the corners of his mouth he reveals a glimmer of joy, for he has created the perfectly packed pipe.  The tobacco has a distinct, pleasurable aroma.  Removing it slowly from his mouth the old man lifts his head and looks directly into my eyes.  It’s as if he’s looking right inside me.  I get an eerie feeling, but I can’t turn away.  His look is stirring and I feel drawn to him but I can’t move.

Briefly, I close my eyes.  A distant voice behind me says, “He’s gone.  He didn’t see it coming.”

Opening my eyes I see the old man smiling at me.  His smile is so peaceful, his eyes so penetrating.  Taking another puff he stands and says, “Are you ready?  We must be going now.”

As he spoke, a strong sensation of peace, joy and love overcame me.