St. Augustine

Call Us Anytime.

It must have been around 5:30 in the morning.  All signs pointed to a new day preparing to dawn.  The moon, which only a few moments earlier had been brightening the night with an almost midday glow, was now in full retreat.  In the distance, a rooster was crowing; which always made Augustine cringe.  His spiritual history was steeped in memories of times when he, like The Apostle Peter, had missed opportunities to stand up and be counted for Christ.  He sighed and shivered and began his morning prayers.  That old rooster might make lousy gravy; but Augustine would be more than willing to put some on a biscuit.

For now, he would settle for his usual morning fare: rice, with a bit of butter and sugar.  It had been his meal, this time of the morning, for as long as he could remember.  Of course, he had no idea what time of the morning it might be.  Until nine o’clock, when the official work day began, Augustine never looked at his watch or wasted enough time to look at a clock; even when one was nearby.  He had never been very fond of schedules and the constant marking of the hours. He knew all he needed to know about time.  Daylight and darkness; like Jacob and Esau of old; remained engulfed in their never ending struggle within the womb of God’s design.  As seasons come and go, the one or the other will always find the upper hand and prevail – to no great avail – as soon the tables will turn and the victor becomes the vanquished.  He wondered what it might be like to enter that “one eternal day”.  But this temporary imitation would not wait on his wondering. There was work to do.

As headmaster of a school for “troubled” boys, Augustine’s work often consisted of shuffling papers from folder to folder and children from class to class.  Today, however, would be different. Brother Augie, as the children playfully called him, was on a mission to repair the old storage shed that sat at the back of the property; near the five mile stretch of piney woods that separated “campus” from the rest of the known world. 

The small building was truly ancient (even older than Augie) and was used for housing such sundry items as a brand new riding mower and a harness and double tree plow from the 30’s.  Constructed from river rock of all shapes and sizes, the little cottage-like shed held great interest for the students; who often attempted to gain access to its treasures.    Fashioned by centuries of being baked in the dry season and rinsed with cool clean water when the spring rains came, the rocks that comprised the walls were more than a match for the little intruders; but exposed hinges, pad locks and hasps, and one ancient pane glass window were easy prey for the probing minds of preadolescent boys.  On this particular morning, it was a recently broken pane of glass which drew Augie away from his morning’s peace. 

Oddly enough, the day one becomes the headmaster; he is elevated nearly to the status of Sainthood.  Even the least knowledgeable is expected to reach semi-omniscience.  It was this widely held fantasy that caused Augie to be elected to make the needed repairs.  In his own mind, however, the almost all knowing headmaster was thoroughly ill equipped for the task ahead.  Fortunately, his nephew Roger, the son of his beloved sister Edna, had recently sent Augie a heaping box of books which included several titles beginning with the words: “How to . . .” and several more which ended in the phrase “. . . for Dummies”.  For Augie, it was a veritable treasure trove of useful knowledge.  A guilty thought occurred to the head-handy-man as he traveled the path, that morning.  After years of teaching the Old Testament, he truly found these books of Roger’s a great deal more useful than Leviticus.

Of course, Leviticus wasn’t all bad . . . He had to smile as he remembered one of his more poignant lectures on the ancient document.  While trying to paint a mental picture for a class of young students, his graphic descriptions of Hebrew sacrificial customs became a bit too vivid for one young man, who raced from the room in horror and forfeited his lunch in the middle of the main hall.  That student had long since taken his rightful place in the “real” world; and aside from the obvious embarrassment of such a memory, points to that moment of sudden clarity as his great awakening to the true nature of the sacrifice of our Lord.

Suddenly, Augie spied something that made him stop in his tracks.  The broken window, the ultimate aim of this early morning outing, wasn’t broken at all.  Its shining surface showed not so much as a crack.  Sleek, clean and freshly caulked, it glistened at him in the early morning light as if to say, “Too slow, old man.  Someone else has filled the need.”    Augie shook his head in amazement.  It seemed to him that he was always late, these days.  He decided to mark the whole thing up as a blessing bestowed by some Good Samaritan or passing angel.

Later that day, as he sat grading essays in his cluttered yet comfortable cubicle of an office, the venerable head master struggled to keep his mind on the paperwork at his fingertips.  His mind was ever occupied with what he had come to call “the mystery of the self-sealing window pane.”  He might have asked his new secretary, Miss Marsden (he just couldn’t bring himself to call her “Angie” as did the rest of the staff); but she had been out running errands all afternoon.

Augie had to smile as he thought about the young, rather attractive secretary the board of directors had chosen to take the place of his former escritoire.  Molly Burnstein had always seemed able to pick up the scattered pieces of his sometimes disorganized world and set the “boss-man” back on track.  She had been a wonderful combination of friend, associate, and confidant.  Sometimes a sister, often a nagging wife (though Augie had never married); Molly was the best thing that ever happened to the work at Rustic Acres.
Since her retirement, things just couldn’t be the same.

Miss Marsden was different.  Angie was young, professional, beautiful, powerful; and for Augie, more than a little intimidating.  Since her arrival, he had been forced to completely reevaluate his place in the overall scheme of things.  While Molly had always seemed willing to let Augie take the lead, his new secretary left him wondering if it was really he that was the assistant.  Before he could begin to form a plan of action, little Miss Marsden would step in and complete the task at hand.  He half believed she had ventured out in the dead of night to repair the broken window; just to show everyone she could.  But even as he pictured her there, caulk gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, he felt that familiar pang of conscience that often accompanied thoughts of his daily office companion.  While she frequently overwhelmed him with her pomp and precision, he was equally engulfed in her youthful beauty and charm.  Always smartly dressed in navy blue or grey “power suits”, dark hosiery and stunningly high heeled shoes above which she floated like an angel of light, Angie usually wore her long, dark hair pulled back from her lovely face with a piece of ribbon or lace.  Augie was sure she was somewhere in her mid twenties; a decade he was certain he must have traversed but had long since forgotten.  Like many of the things in his life, she was constantly available but completely unattainable.

         Augie’s daydreaming was abruptly interrupted by the distinctive sound of a metal shovel scraping against solid rock.  He rose to peer out the lone, small window in his office and caught sight of the school’s part time maintenance engineer; laboring in an effort to dislodge a rather uncooperative rock from its resting place in the middle of the new flower beds. 

Laurence, who had gained the rather feminine nickname of “Laurie” in spite of his taunt muscles and chiseled good looks, had been doing his best to impress the new secretary.  He was much closer to Angie’s age than Augustine; and the complete antithesis of the headmaster.  Laurence was completely driven by time and circumstance.  Even now, in the throws of his physical labor, Augustine noticed how often the young man looked at his watch.  Perhaps the alarm function had awakened the younger, stronger Laurence this morning; so he could replace the window of the old shed.  It would be just like him . . . to accomplish where others had failed.

Augustine knew the timepiece well.  He had been responsible for its purchase and presentation only a few short years ago.  While a student at Rustic Acres, this would be gardener had set dozens of academic records and won the hearts of most everyone on campus.  As his headmaster, teacher, and friend, Augustine had been thrilled to present Laurie with a rather nice timepiece - considering the limited budget of the school – immediately following Laurie’s valedictory address.  The young man glanced at the gift once again; but his attention was quickly drawn away by the familiar “sewing machine” hum of the school’s ancient Volkswagen Beetle.

When it was new and a sleek shade of heavenly blue, the old V.W. had been a popular mode of transportation for Molly Burnstein and her four children. By the time the last one had graduated high school and moved on, the Beetle was a mere shadow of its former self.  When Molly retired, the car stayed behind as a sort of “going away” present.  In fact, for several months after her departure, the old Bug hadn’t gone anywhere.  It took Laurie’s tools and talent to put it back on the road.  In its latest incarnation, it served as the school’s delivery wagon.  Just about everyone on the staff had a key or knew where to find the emergency key located next to the battery inside a small brown box under the back seat.

Even through the dimming eyes of age, Augustine quickly recognized the lovely figure at the wheel as his youthful secretary returning from her afternoon errands.  His mouth watered as he thought of the special chickaree blend coffee she might be bringing from the local deli.  Augie was ready for a pick-me-up.  For some reason, he was feeling even more chilled and unstable than usual, today.  A good strong cup of Joe and a few more minutes of calm and he might just be ready for his afternoon session with the seniors.  He was looking forward to digging into the second chapter of Acts;  lots of good things to share with up and coming theologians.

He watched as the car pulled into its regular slot behind the administration building.  Then, to his startled amazement, he watched as Laurie opened the driver’s door and received the driver into his waiting arms.  Angie pulled the gardener closer, still, and kissed him – a bit more passionately than the headmaster was ready to witness – then stood there for what seemed an eternity with her head resting squarely on his receptive chest.  So, there they were; Angie and Laurie. Between them they could fix whatever needed fixing and handle whatever might come their way.  Augustine sat down quietly at his desk and waited for the younger generation to bring him his afternoon medicine.

As Angie and Laurie rounded the corner and entered the Headmaster’s study, they were hand in hand and fully involved in their own blissful delight.  It took a moment for them to transfer their attention enough to notice Augustine, silently slumped in the gathering shadows of late afternoon, grading pen firmly in hand.  Neither of them said a word.  Bliss now turned to mourning; they set about the matter of preparing the staff for the news that would change their lives forever.

A few hours later, as the coroner completed his investigation and once again made the room available to Augustine’s young secretary, she began the long, lonely work of change.  As she bustled about the room – home to her former overseer for nearly a quarter century – she suddenly realized the answering machine contained a fresh message.  It was rather unlike Augustine to have failed to check his calls; but under the circumstances, she reasoned, he may have been too ill or simply overwhelmed.  She inadvertently pushed the wrong button and was surprised to hear Augustine’s voice come rumbling into the room.  “I’m sorry I cannot be here to take your call, right now.  I will certainly call you back as soon as I have the time.” 

After collecting her wits and fighting back a tear, Angie tried again.  Picking up the blood-red grading pen from its resting place on the desk, she jotted down the message she heard.

“Good morning, Augustine.  I’m sorry we didn’t catch you in your office.  It’s nine o’clock and I’m sure you are busy with the students.  We just wanted to thank you for thinking of Glimmer Glass Works for the repairs on your shed.  We’re a small business and need all the good publicity we can get.  My husband said he enjoyed visiting with you, when you phoned in the order yesterday afternoon.  He was so excited to have the opportunity; he went out after supper and made the needed repairs.  We hope you’re happy with the results.  Call us anytime.”