BRIGHTENED CORNERS
Blanche Missouri Burke Nelson


MY DESTINATION

I had just settled in a seat near the front of the first car, when the trainman came and asked to see my ticket.

I could not understand why the conductors were so interested in my getting off the train. It seems they'd been looking for "the young man from Massachusetts who bought a ticket to the next station,' but wasn't on the train when they arrived that night. I heard them talking to one another, but I couldn't hear what they said. It seemed they thought I might get hurt by someone.

In about an hour we were at my station.

"OK, my friend, " said the trainman, "here you are. But I'm really not sure you'll want to stay. We'll stand close by -- just in case you need us to rescue you. If you want to get back on and go back with us, we'll sure be glad to accommodate you. I've never seen such mean kids!! ...The conductor called the inn; Mr. Watson, the owner, will be here shortly."

As the train jolted to a stop, I picked up my luggage and got off.

"Thank you, gentlemen, I appreciate your concern, but I think I'll be all right."

When I stepped off the train, I heard the most vulgar language I'd heard in a long time. Even at Harvard I didn't hear that! Truthfully, I'd never heard some of the words they were using! When I saw who it was coming from, I was even more startled and saddened: boys between 10 and 12 years old. Never before had I been met with such hostility anywhere:

"What are you doing here?" hollered one.

"Why did you come here? We don't want any foreigners here." said the tallest boy, apparently the leader of the "pack."

Almost as if on cue, they all said in chorus. "Go home! We hate you!" And to demonstrate their feelings, they began hurling small stones; one came over and spit on my shoes, some threw clods of mud at me --wet mud, as it had apparently rained the night before. My suit was a mess! Then, one grabbed my Jeff cap and began tossing it as they would a ball in a game of catch. I stood paralyzed -- not so much with fear as with amazement that children could show such hatred to strangers.

"If they treat me like this, I wonder how they treat their fellow townspeople," I pondered.

The train conductor and engineer tried to chase them off by threatening to call the police, but nothing seemed to faze them.

"Please don't hurt me," I pleaded. "I 'm your friend." I don't know why I said this, but I continued, "I don't have a friend here. Please be my friend."

A little fellow about five or six years old looked up at the leader and whispered audibly, "What does he mean?"

"He wants to be our friend, Peanut," he replied. "He means he'd like for us to be nice to him and says he'll be nice to us. Don't trust him. We've seen his kind before. Comin' here dressed all fancy; we've seen others come and try to buy up our land and make us their slaves."

Immediately, the little fellow ran toward me and grabbed my leg. He knew the older boys would be angry if he hugged my neck as he'd like to have. "Hey, Frankie, go grab one of his suitcases; Michael, you get the other," directed Rudy.

With that, a boy came up behind me and grabbed both my suitcases and tossed them to two others who just tossed them to others. They kept them in motion as I just stood there bewildered.

"Hey, Peanut, get away from him before I come over there and whup you!," yelled one of the boys.

Right away I pled, "Stop! Don't beat him up," I said with as much authority as I could muster up in my voice. Inwardly, I was a bit nervous. But I breathed a quick prayer for wisdom and protection. "Peanut" was to be my first defendant!

"Not only will we beat him up, we'll beat you up, too," threatened the only red-haired boy in the group.

Just then I saw a blue Chevrolet pull up, and heard my name, "John! Quick, get in the car!'" I don't think I was ever so happy to see someone as I was then! I breathed a quick "Thank You." to the Lord.

"Where's your bags, John?" asked Mr. Watson.

"Those boys have them."

"Here, take this to protect yourself," Mr. Watson said, as he handed me the baseball bat.

Peanut cried out, "He has a baseball bat. He'll hit us."

I handed it back to him and said, "I don't need it. I don't think the boys will hurt meWhen I stepped out, and they saw I didn't have the baseball bat, they all froze where they were standing. They were waiting to see my next move. After about a three-minute silence, Rudy spoke:

"OK, you can have your bags, but you'll have to come get them. We're not going to be your servant."

I walked over to the tree where the boys were standing with the suitcases.

"Thank you, boys," I said. "Please let me be your friend."

Mr. Watson thought that I was a very brave person. When we got to his inn, I noticed he had an iron fence around the property. The sign was a sturdy oak one with neat hand-lettering, "Baker's Inn."

"It had a white picket fence at one time, but the boys came and tore it down. It was then that I was determined that they'd not run me out of town. That's when I bought the baseball bat."

"Where are the boys' parents? What are they like?" I asked.

"They fuss and fight all the time. They're farmers -- they've known some hard times. Few have an education to speak of."

Mr. Watson saw my eyes scan the interior of the inn, and answered my question before I asked it:

"My uncle left me this house. Those boys are beginning to wear me down; I'd like to get out of town as soon as possible, but Sarah, my wife, doesn't want me just to give the place away. She thinks we should get what it's worth," explained Mr. Watson, his voice showing his disliking of the boys. "Visitors who spend the night, leave first thing in the morning because of these boys.

How long do you plan to stay?" asked Mr. Watson.

"I think I'll leave tomorrow. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," I conceded.