Iniquity and Grace

Tuesday morning brought the usual rush of activity in the Richards home. Danny devoured a bowl of cereal and two pieces of toast all while packing his book bag for school on the kitchen table. Gerald frantically searched the dryer for a missing grey sock while a toothbrush protruded out of his right cheek. Finally the two were ready. Gerald turned the ignition key and both waited for the old car to pronounce its morning litany of sputters and coughs and then turn over into something that resembled a motor running. Ninth Street was busy this time of day. Gerald melded into the flow of traffic and proceeded toward Lake Elementary School.

   When they arrived, Danny kissed his father on the cheek and got out across the street from the school. Gerald could hear the exit laughter and screams of the children as they got off busses. The blue haired woman stood under a tree by the parking lot pontificating at the scene. Danny’s teacher stood by a bus door and greeted each child with a smile and words of encouragement to those who lagged behind the pace. She was wearing an cotton print dress that tastefully accented her figure. Gerald was drawn by her mannerisms, cheerful attitude and nice legs. He was also hit with a sudden burst of guilt. It had been only two months. He drove on to work.

   Once in the newsroom he went right over to the micro fiche files. After pulling out his wallet and carefully removing the yellowed piece of newspaper he spread it out on the corner of the table exposing the date in the upper right hand corner: January 12, 1942. He pulled the drawer full of microfiche files and fingered through the plates until he located the proper date. Once removed, the plate was placed on a micro fiche reader and the light switch was turned on. Dozens of pages rolled by until he located January 12^th. Most of the news that day was about the war. ‘There it is,’ he thought.  It was front page news. With all that was going on in the world at that time, this story was still front page news in Lakewood.

  Gerald rolled the plate over to page three where the story continued. There were more details about the destruction and several quotes from members of the church. At the bottom of the page was a picture of the burned edifice. A black man was facing the camera pointing at one of the windows destroyed by the flames. He was identified as Rueben Harris. ‘Rueben Harris’ Gerald thought. ‘That is Carrie’s baby brother.”

   “What’s the matter, Clark Kent? Smell a story??” Gerald turned around and saw Mae’s rather large bosoms pointing right at his nose through a somewhat revealing black dress. He gave her a sheepish smile as she walked by. Boss want’s to see you ASAP, sport.” 

   Bobby Young was sitting in Broyles’ office busily taking notes as the old lion talked, but the door was open. Gerald rapped on the door jam just loud enough to raise the editor’s eyebrows. 

   “Come in Richards. I assume that you have met my sports editor, Bobby Young.”

   They had met, but just briefly. Bobby was just twenty one years old, just out of Florida A & M. He had been the sports editor for his college newspaper. Broyles hired him when the former sports editor retired last summer.