"Course not, Ray. Who's this?" one of the men replied ,looking at Joe.
Joe looked at Ray, unsure if he should introduce himself. "Don't worry about him, Hymie," Ray replied when Joe didn't. "That's Joey O, he's on the level, and you know Harry and Milberg." Joe waved from the couch.
"I'm Hymie, and this here is Nigger Joe, and that's Izzy the Rat."
"How the molls treating you, Izzy?" Ray asked, passing out cigars. The men continued talking about women for several minutes until Ray turned to Joe and asked, "Where's Beilman with the books?" Joe mumbled he'd go outside to look and left the apartment. He ran down the stairs, pushing past the same woman who'd put the milk bottle out on the stoop. She was on her way up the stairs. He crossed the street and got in the car. Joe pulled the car in front of the building and looked up and down the block for any signs of a rival gang or cops. Seeing none he pressed hard on the gas pedal over and over till the car backfired and then he laid on the horn.
Not two minutes later, Ray, Milberg, and Harry raced out the door of the apartment building and jumped on the running boards of the car. "Go! Go! Go!" Ray yelled. Joe put the car in gear and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He stopped a block later and the three men got inside and he took off again.
"You get the money?" Joe asked as he tore down the side street, passing cars, and dodging pedestrians. Ray laughed and wiped his face with his sleeve. Joe looked at Ray, noticing there was blood splattered on his cheek. Joe turned his head, glancing quickly in the back seat. Milberg looked as pale as a ghost, and Harry was wiping blood off the lapel of his coat with a handkerchief. "What the hell? What the hell happened in there?" Joe demanded.
"I guess you could say they weren't co-operating." Ray laughed again. "Stop the car, Joey." Joe pulled the car over to the curb and, his hands shaking, set the hand brake. What the hell happened in that apartment? "Drive out of the city and find a place to burn this hay burner, and then meet us back at the Sugar House in an hour."
With that, all three men got out of the car and started walking in separate directions. Joe sat there for a moment not moving, processing what had just happened. What a fool he was. They hadn't gone to the apartment to get any money… It had been a hit the whole time, and they'd made Joe a part of it by driving the getaway car.
"Oh my God," Joe said out loud and made the sign of the cross over himself. Sirens wailed in the distance, and he knew they were headed to the Collingwood apartment. That woman—that woman with the milk bottle—she'd seen his face in the stairwell! She'd be able to identify him. Another police car sped down the street past Joe's parked car, and he pulled the brim of his hat down. He had to get out of here. He'd go to prison for life for sure! Shaking and nauseated, Joe started the car and drove it to the only place he could think of.
He couldn't go home. He didn't want his family involved in this mess. Anyway the cops would find him there—or worse, the Purples would. Abe might try to bump him off now. He couldn't go to the fishing cottage… Charlie had most likely told Abe about it. Anyway he'd had Cappie's boat put in storage. Damn. How brutal to slaughter those men in cold blood like that. What if one of them was still alive? Ray had told them Joe's name. Shit. Things couldn't be worse. Joe parked the car in an alley and covered the back bumper with a couple of cardboard boxes that had been dumped there. He walked down the side of the backstreet, trying to stay in the shadows, until he came to a yard with an old outhouse. He slipped inside the putrid wooden box and crouched on the floor holding his gun at the door. It would be dark in a few hours.
Joe pushed the door open an inch and looked outside. Night had fallen, and the glow of amber light poured out the windows of the house into the backyard. He pushed the door open a few more inches and, trying to remain in the shadows, he crawled in the dirt to the back of the latrine and leaned against the wood. Holding his gun underneath his coat he slowly stood up, looked around, and crawled to the alley. Bright headlights appeared at the end of the street and drove towards him. Joe jumped over a wooden fence and hid in a clump of bushes. His breathing sounded as loud as a train and he tried to take a few deep breaths.
The dark sedan crept down the dirt alley slowly. There were two men sitting in the front of the car. As the car neared Joe, it pulled to a stop. He could hear men arguing but he was unable to make out their words. Then he made out "Damn Polack!" It was Ray Bernstein. When he'd failed to show up at the Sugar House they'd come looking for him. The sound of a car door slammed as someone exited the car. A flashlight swept through the alley and into the trees and brush lining it.
"You really think I'm gonna find some Godforsaken Polack in this city with a flashlight, Ray?" It was Harry speaking.
"Well, he's not at home, and we've gotta find him," the gangster answered back. "The cops are swarming, and we all gotta get out of the city." The car idled for several minutes as Harry walked up and back shining his flashlight into the garbage and furniture that littered the backstreet.
"Who cares about that Polack? He won't talk. He knows if he does we'll grab his little brother," Harry said. "Let's save our own backsides and get out of here." Joe heard the car door slam again, and the sedan drove away.
He waited several minutes until he was sure they were gone and hopped back over the fence. He looked ahead and saw the lights of his destination calling to him. As he took a step forward, a screen door banged shut and he dove behind a pile of garbage. Trembling, he stood back up and sprinted the two blocks down the alley.
He pulled on the great wooden door but it was locked. Joe prowled around the back and tried the smaller door. It too was locked. Joe lightly knocked on the back door. Nothing. He tried again and then he heard the sound of a lock turning.
"Joe! What's the matter?"
"Please, Father, I need your help," he pleaded to Father Gatowski. The old priest looked behind Joe into the darkness and opened the door. He slipped inside, and the priest locked it behind him. Joe followed Father Gatowksi into the church and up the steps of the altar. The priest walked across the altar and opened the door to the sacristy. Joe followed him in. Crosses, linens, and priestly vestments hung from the walls; gold plates and chalices sat on a table in the corner. The gray-haired priest turned and faced Joe.
"What happened, Joe?" Tears poured down Joe's face and he couldn't speak. How could he tell the kindly priest what he'd been a part of? The shame from his criminal life burned hot in his heart, and the sinfulness of it exploded in his gut. "Son, tell me," he said gently. Joe sat down dejectedly in a wooden chair and summarized the last ten years of his life—the boats, the whisky, the Sugar House, the extortions, Cappie's death—ending with the events of that day. Tears flowed down his cheeks during the entire oration. Father Gatowski sat across from him and listened silently until he finished.
"Where's the car?" the priest asked. Joe looked up at the priests face for the first time. The car?
"It's down the alley a couple blocks. I threw some boxes over the back of it. But Father, didn't you hear me? Those men in that apartment are…"
"I heard you, son. Give me the keys, and go in there and wait for me." The priest pointed to a small door leading off the sacristy. Joe handed him the car keys and looked at him questioningly. "I'll be back soon. Wait there." Father Gatowski went out the door of the sacristy.
Joe entered the tiny dark room and shut the door. He found a light switch and flipped it on. Elaborate golden doors lined the back wall, and a large cross hung above. He fell to his knees on the tiled floor and held his head in his hands. The priest had hidden him in a room with God himself. This is where the church kept the blessed Eucharist… the body and blood of God. Joe knelt on his knees, crying and praying for forgiveness. Finally, he fell into an exhausted sleep on the floor.
Father Gatowski gently shook Joe to waken him. "Come, my son" he said. Joe got up and followed the priest out of the sacristy into the church. He led Joe to his family's pew and they sat down on the wooden bench. Joe felt a slight calming warmth sitting in t
he familiarity of the church.
"Joe, what you've been doing is wrong, and you'll need to beg for God's forgiveness. You've performed illegal acts, extorted money by threats and fear, caroused with women, witnessed a murder and didn't report the culprit, and contributed to the murder of three men. But almost worse, you lost your faith." The priest looked at Joe and took his hands in his.
"I know, Father, please take my confession now. I'll turn myself in in the morning, but please give me absolution before I go." Joe buried his face in the priest's wrinkled hands.
"There will be a time for confession, son, but it is not now." Joe looked into the priest's eyes. "What you have done is wrong, but this murder the Purples committed is not of your doing. You say you had no knowledge of their plans, and I believe you. I've taken your car to the convent—a donation to the nuns. The police will never question that it belongs to them. Morning Mass is to begin in twenty minutes. You will stay in the sacristy until it has ended. Then I will take you in my car to a train station a couple hours from here." Joe wiped his eyes disbelieving what the priest was telling him.
"You want me to run?" he asked incredulously.
"You're not running. You're going on a retreat to find God, a pilgrimage. I'll visit your mother and let her know you are safe but you will be unable to return for some time. I'll send a letter with you to take to the Sacred Heart Church in Calumet. That's the parish you attended when you were a boy, correct? The monsignor there is Father Luke, a friend of mine from the seminary. He will see that you are taken care of. He'd written me just last week asking if I knew of any young men who were in need of work. His parish has gone through several divisions in the last few years, and he is in need of someone to help keep up the church and the rectory. In exchange, the church will provide you with room and board and—most importantly Joe—a place for you to find your way back to God." The priest sat back in the pew and looked up at the altar. "I believe you will find your way. I have faith in you."
Joe listened to the Mass from the sacristy and thought about the old priest's words. This time he did not pray. He needed to prove to God that he could change his life and be a good man before truly asking for forgiveness. Two hours later, at the train depot north of the city, Joe embraced Father Gatowski on the wooden platform as the train pulled into the station.
"Thank you, Father," Joe whispered fiercely, holding tightly to the old man. The old priest released Joe and looked into his deep blue eyes.
"Joe, you've tried to take care of your family the best you knew how since your father died. You've taken care of your mother and your brothers and even your Uncle Feliks and your little cousin Katalina. And I know joining the convent was not the direction Marya had been heading. Your father would be very proud. You haven't always made the right choices, but you have a good heart, Joe." Father Gatowski embraced Joe a final time, and Joe stepped onto the train's first step.
"Thank you for helping me, Father," he said. "I promise to make you proud, too."
"I know you'll keep your promise Joe—just as I have. Your Ojciec came to me the day he left for the army and asked if I'd watch over you if something happened to him. I believe I've fulfilled that promise tonight, as I know you will fulfill yours to form a new life for yourself and be good in your faith to God. Take care, Joe," he said, as the train began to pull away from the station. "I'll be praying for you."
Joe waved, boarded the train, and found a seat. He looked out the window and felt the first sense of peace he'd had in years. His shoulders relaxed, and he took what felt like his first deep breath in months. He smiled softly to himself and whispered, "Thank you, Ojciec. I love you too."
Epilogue
Joe sat looking out over the blue water of Cranberry Lake and cast his line thirty feet from the boat. Cappie's boat was old, but he was too sentimental to buy another. Though his hair was white, his blue eyes still held their fantastic hue as he looked at the cottages that dotted the lakeshore, perched on small rises. Their appearance was similar to the homes that fronted Keweenaw Bay in the Upper Peninsula, where he'd spent five years at the Sacred Heart parish before returning to Detroit. Father Gatowski had been right to have faith in him. Joe found God again.
Joe worked hard fixing up the old church and rectory. He replaced the worn floor of the church board by board, fixed leaky pipes, rewired the electricity, and did any other job that needed to be done. He taught himself these new skills by trial and error as he approached each new task. Father Luke had been welcoming and asked no questions of Joe. It wasn't till a couple of years later that Joe approached Father Luke in the confessional and bared his soul. He waited till he felt he'd proven his worth for what God had provided to him and saved him from.
He didn't socialize with the people of the parish, for fear one would recognize him from his days there as a boy, but he needn't have worried. Most if not all of the people who would have remembered Joe had left by then, and if any remained they had their own troubles to contend with and didn't ponder the quiet, handsome man who had shown up suddenly one autumn morning.
During the drive to the train station, Joe had told Father Gatowski where he'd hidden his nest egg and had asked him to give it to his mother as he boarded the train. He'd wanted to give some to the church but worried his family would not have enough to survive on. Instead he deeded the fishing property to St. Josaphat, and Father Gatowski housed several homeless families there during the Depression. After Prohibition ended Father Gatowski had written to him letting him know that it was safe to return to the city. The Purples had self-destructed after Ray, Harry, and Milberg were convicted of committing the Collingwood Manor Massacre and were sentenced to life in federal prison. The woman who had put the milk bottle on the porch of the apartment turned out in the end to be his redeemer. She'd told police that before she heard the volley of bullets on the second floor she'd seen a blond man going down the stairwell, thereby clearing him of the murders. The city was awash in so much crime and poverty that the police had much more pressing circumstances on their hands; they closed the case of the getaway driver.
Uncle Alexy, rehired at the end of the Depression, secured Joe a position at the Ford plant when he returned to Detroit from Sacred Heart, and he moved back in with his mother. Frank and Stephan also worked at Ford, but Frank had married and moved out of the house. Joe and Stephan financed a new home in the suburbs of Detroit and moved their mother out of the city. They traveled together to work and back until Stephan also met a lovely Polish girl and settled down. Joe dated sporadically but focused his spare time on his work with the newly formed U.A.W. and volunteering at St. Josaphat. Father Gatowski passed on shortly after Joe returned to Detroit, and Joe was able to attend the massive funeral held in his honor.
In 1937, Joe protested Ford's fight against the union with hundreds of others on an overpass near the River Rouge Plant. He was severely beaten by one of Ford's henchman, and a photographer who caught it on film published it in the Detroit News. Thinking he'd lost his job for protesting against his employer so publicly, he went to work the next day only to get his pink slip. The public was so outraged at the photographs in the papers that Ford had to issue an apology (of sorts), and Joe was able to keep his position.
When the Second World War began on that infamous December 7, 1941, Joe went with thousands of others to the recruiting office to enlist. He was turned away due to the loss of his lung and was bitterly disappointed he could not follow in his father's footsteps by fighting for his country. He later learned his childhood friend Sam had perished fighting for his country. When Ford announced they were to cease building cars to help in the war effort and would build an airplane factory in Ypsilanti, just west of Detroit, Joe was one of the first line workers to request a transfer.
He was given the position of foreman at the Willow Run plant and was assigned to supervise the hundreds of women that were hired to build the airplanes. True Rosie the Riveters, they were a loud, spunky, hard-working group of women, and he had his
hands full most days. Joe started dating a little brunette that worked on his line and tried to keep it under management's radar, as fraternizing with the line workers was forbidden. The white-collar bosses never noticed; but a tall, blonde beauty who worked down the line from Joe did.
Suddenly the little brunette began to refuse any offers of a date with Joe, and he found himself in the arms of the lovely blonde Polish girl. It wasn't till years later that he found out the woman who was to become his wife had let the brunette know under no uncertain terms that Joe was to be hers.
Blanche loved to fish. Joe would take her out on Saturdays in Cappie's boat, and they would troll the Detroit River and Lake Erie for hours, fishing and talking. They married in St. Josaphat's before the war ended and moved into a house down the street from Joe's mother. They had two boys and a little girl and sent them to Catholic school as Joe had been sent. His friends from work would laugh when they visited for backyard barbeques when they saw the picture of Clara Bow that hung in his small hallway, saying they didn't believe Joe had ever met the "It" girl. Ty Cobb's signature remained hidden on the back of the photograph. One day he planned to give it to his youngest son, who loved baseball as much as he did. He'd lived a good life and he hoped he had atoned for his sins in the eyes of God.
The sound of children laughing and splashing in the shallow water nearby shook Joe out of his memories, and he pulled in the empty hook. He looked over at the small cottage he had bought after he'd retired and saw his nine granddaughters playing and swimming together near the dock. One screamed shrilly and jumped off the wooden dock out as far as she could leap. "Did you see that, Grandpa?" she called, as he neared the dock, her blonde hair shining in the sun. "I almost touched heaven!"
"Yes, I think you did," he replied.
Endnotes
[1] Published in 1902, music by George Evans; lyrics by Ren Shields.
Sugar House (9780991192519) Page 31
