The Good In All of Us

The Good Inside All of Us

“The line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

-Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

It is only natural that we see ourselves as the center of the universe. We see from within, so how could it be otherwise? Henry found it troubling that the world would keep spinning, shoppers would keep shopping, cars would continue speeding down roadways, and children would still be playing, the moments following his exit from this world. Shouldn’t people care enough about his passing that they should stop doing whatever the hell they were doing?

That was the theme planted in Henry’s head by that relentless little demon seated on his left shoulder.

“Henry, you are the center of the Universe. The world was built around you to provide you with endless entertainment. Enjoy yourself. Don’t waste your time spending even a moment thinking of others. They are of no concern to you. You live, you die. It’s all about how much fun you can have in between.”

Fortunately, the Creator did not construct a world in which evil could roam the world unchallenged. Good would have its champion, and for Henry, it was the persistent force stationed on his right shoulder. His Good Angel had limited success throughout Henry’s lifetime, but she would not give up on him. That’s what angels do.

“Henry, there is more to life than materialistic pleasures. Your life will be measured by what you give, not by what you take. Put some meaning into your life, Henry. Your reward will be in heaven.”

The Dark Angel was amused.

“Don’t listen to Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, Henry. What a great idea, suffer now so you can have the good life in heaven. And heaven? I’d get some proof on that one, Henry, before you waste your life on that long shot.”

“Shut up, Beelzboob. He doesn’t care about you, Henry. He just wants your soul.”

Soul, heaven, good, evil… and God. Henry wanted to believe. He just couldn’t get there.

---------

“You’ve got six months to live.”

It turns out that is a real thing doctors sometimes say. Words without recourse, a death sentence with no appeal, Henry was doomed.

He suffered through all the usual stages- panic, fear, anger, hope, hopelessness, and reflection. Because of the way he had spent his 68 years on this Earth, Henry could add one other one- loneliness. The Dark Angel had done his job well.

Had there been such a contest, Henry would have easily won the title of “Most Unlikable Kid in His Grade School”. He cheated at playground Squares (repeated “carries” to unfairly aid direction and speed); he bullied Branson Marks, the class genius, into doing his homework and surreptitiously assisting him on tests; made crude comments about the early developing girls; and demonstrated consistent disrespect for authority (taping his remote control fart machine under Sister Mary Joseph’s chair comes to mind). All the while, Henry was rooted on by the Dark Side.

“Way to go, Henry. Did you see the look on Sister Mary Joseph’s face? I about wet my pants!”

His Better Angel knew she was in an uphill battle.

“Oh my God, Henry, can’t you do just one good thing?”

----------

Henry’s Grandfather hailed from farm country, and he was chock-full of “Iowaisms” that met nearly every occasion.

“Even a blind pig will occasionally find a bale of hay.”

So too was it for Henry. He was fishing at the lagoon in Lincoln Park one summer afternoon when he heard a little girl crying. The little girl had curly blonde hair and was wearing a bright pink dress. She was standing with her mother and pointing to something floating in the water. Henry was curious and moved closer. The object of the little girl’s distress was a small doll slowly drifting away from the shoreline.

“It’s ok, honey, we’ll stop at the store on the way home and get you another doll.”

“No, Mom! Susie’s my favorite doll!”

Sometimes our bodies move in unexpected ways without a hint of direction from the brain. The little girl’s shaky voice, her distraught look, and the tears awakened a sentiment deep within Henry that had been dormant for years. Without saying a word, twelve-year-old Henry stepped from firm footing into the mud at the edge of the lagoon as he embarked on his daring rescue mission. His efforts were hampered by ankle-deep muck as he slowly made his way toward the doll, who, unfortunately, also kept moving.

The doll drifted further away, but Henry redoubled his efforts. The water reached his knees, then his waist, and rose dangerously close to his neck, but “Susie” was still beyond his grasp. But the wind suddenly died down, the doll sat still upon the water’s surface, and then in a remarkable bit of good fortune, the doll did a retrograde motion and moved back toward Henry.

“Gotch ya!”

“Susie” was soaked but intact. The little girl thanked Henry over and over again, and the mom tried to give him money. Henry refused the reward as he struggled to comprehend the strange feeling stirring in his heart. The Good Angel felt like she had finally broken through.

“Henry, that was wonderful! I am so proud of you. That was truly a selfless, good deed.”

“Henry, you stupid fool! What the hell is wrong with you?! Why in God’s name would you hop into the muck to save some stupid doll? You could have been eaten by a snapping turtle or something.”

“Shut up, Beelzbutt. You can’t take losing, can you?”

“Losing? I don’t think so, Angel-cakes. That’s one tiny blip out of volumes of malfeasance. I’m way ahead of you on points. And, Henry, let’s not be doing anything like that again.”

And Henry didn’t.

----------

High School Henry made Belushi’s “Bluto” Blutarski from Animal House look like a guest lecturer at The Emily Post School of Etiquette and Good Manners. One-word descriptions of Henry bounced around the halls of Central High as students hurried to their classrooms- loud, obnoxious, crude, vulgar, jerk, as well as many other profanity-laced labels. None of it bothered Henry; he took pride in the fact that he was so well known.

“Hey, Miss Milquetoast, I’ve got my boy so well programmed that I just might take a few days off.”

The demoralized Good Angel lowered her head and couldn’t even muster up a response.

Henry went off to college, where he blazed a remarkable trail of cutting classes, sleeping in, consuming vast quantities of beer, and engaging in a Bacchanalian frenzy of loveless sex. Branson Marks had gone to an out-of-state school, so Henry, left to his own devices, flunked out his second semester.

Henry’s Uncle Dan was a real estate broker, and he persuaded Henry to take the real estate license exam. Remarkably, Henry passed (on his 3rd attempt), and he went to work for his uncle. He made a good living, not as a result of hard work or creative financing for buyers, but rather through his stunningly unethical approach to the trade. In an effort to salvage his business’s sinking reputation, Uncle Dan fired his own nephew.

Henry bounced around from office to office. His stays were longer at each new location, not because of the ongoing admonitions of the Good Angel, but as a result of honing his skills at concealing his corrupt approach to the business. He made a good living, sufficient to maintain a lifestyle best described as woopie. Perhaps it was that lifestyle that did him in, for it was shortly after retiring that Henry got that dispiriting news from his doctor.

It’s hard to sleep, buy groceries, watch your favorite sports teams on TV, or do much of anything when you know death will soon be knocking at your door. Henry spent lonely days on a bench at Lincoln Park. The Dark Angel, smug and confident, gleefully visited Henry.

“Wow, that diagnosis is a real bummer, Henry, but we had a good run. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Not so fast, Beelzbarf. Henry, there’s still time. You can still find God. Repent, Henry. All are forgiven.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Forget it, Henry, your scorecard is in. But what a good time we had!”

----------

Predicting the time of death is not an exact science. After just three months of discomforting and debilitating treatments, Henry checked himself into St. Joseph’s Hospice.

Reflection. Drifting off into sleep, Henry recalled all the fun times he had along the way, but none of it brought even the hint of a smile. Uncertainty was rapidly descending into panic. What if the Good Angel was right? Henry turned toward his left shoulder, looking for confirmation, but the Evil One was nowhere to be found. He had already put Henry in his win column and had hurried off in search of other victims.

The Good Angel had told Henry there was still time. Henry looked to his right, but she wasn’t there. It is indeed a cause for despair when one of heaven’s angels gives up on you.

Henry drifted in and out of a restless sleep. The pain medication sent Henry’s mind into a whirling mass of confusion as he revisited the messages from the competing angels. The plea for a good life was overwhelmed by all that bad behavior- cheating at playground games, bullying Branson Marks, all the crude comments, seeing women only as objects of physical pleasure, and a career fraught with fraud and greed.

He visited the scenes of his crimes. He walked through town, stopping in front of each of the offices where he had ripped off clients and associates. He paused in front of Central High and recalled the torment he had caused so many. Near the end of town, Henry arrived at St. Mary’s. Giving Branson Marks a swirly suddenly didn’t seem funny anymore.

A hearse was parked in front of the church. The parking lot was full, and cars lined both sides of the street for blocks. Henry thought the deceased must have been very popular. As soon as he walked through the front door and entered the vestibule, he was greeted by a peculiar-looking little old man who peered at him over his glasses.

“Pro or con?”

“What?”

“Are you for the deceased, or are you against him? It’s not a hard question.”

Henry was confused. For or against at a wake?

“How would I know? I don’t even know who it is.”

“The registry is right over there. The departed’s name is at the top of each page.”

A confused Henry approached the registry, which was now open to page 227. His eyes slowly moved up to the top of the page, where he saw the name- Henry Williams, his name. Henry stumbled and grabbed hold of the table for support. He turned and saw the little old man give him a sympathetic look, then point to an open door.

Henry entered the massive interior of the church and immediately saw the signs, “Pro” with an arrow pointing to the right, and “Con” with an arrow pointing to the left. Hundreds of people filled the left side of the church; the right side was empty.

Henry understood. It was indeed an unusual seating arrangement for a wake, but he understood. He stood motionless at the door. His body and mind went numb as his life came crashing down on him. The little old man approached.

“You need to be seated. The service is about to begin.”

Henry, seeing his unfavorables outnumbering his favorables by something in the range of a thousand to zero, was hesitant to enter, but the little old man gave him a nudge.

“Please, you must be seated.”

Hoping to go unnoticed, Henry moved slowly, quietly, and sat down in the very last pew on the right. Unfortunately, anyone taking a seat in the “Pro” section would draw attention, and Henry was immediately recognized.

“It’s him! You son-of-bitch!”

In an instant, everyone’s piercing, angry eyes were on Henry.

“Jerk!”

“Thief!”

“Cheater!”

“You #%@*!”

The booing was loud and incessant. In a fanciful and predictably fruitless effort, Henry tried not to notice as he studied the ornate artwork on the ceiling above.

The cacophony of insults continued until Father Mel entered from the sacristy and walked to the lectern. Henry squirmed in anticipation.

“Friends, we are gathered here today to honor the life of Henry Williams…”

A former business associate couldn’t take it.

“What?! Are you out of your mind, Father Mel? The guy was a real scumbag. Who the hell would honor him?”

“Please, I know Henry had his faults, but he was one of God’s children, and he…”

“Faults?! He was the devil himself without the pitchfork!”

A woman in the front row stood and led the crowd in a seemingly prepared chant.

“Who hates Henry?”

And the crowd responded with thunder.

“We all hate Henry!”

“Who hates Henry?”

“We all hate Henry!!”

“Who hates Henry?”

“We all hate Henry!!!”

Many in the crowd held up offensive signs, many of which appeared to be professionally printed. A flustered Father Mel tried to quell the crowd.

“Please! Remember the words of Jesus. Love thy neighbor.”

“I bet Jesus never met Henry!”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…”

Henry lowered his head and quietly suffered the humiliation. He knew it was deserved. Father Mel continued.

“We only saw the outer Henry. Like all of God’s creatures, I’m sure there was good deep inside.”

Henry clapped softly at this positive note. This immediately drew the ire of the crowd.

“Why are you clapping, you miserable snake! Let’s kill him!”

“Let’s kill Henry! Let’s kill Henry. Let’s kill…”

“You can’t kill Henry. He’s already dead.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.”

Father Mel struggled through the boisterous service. The flock showed little interest in sending Henry off with the usual send-off of “rest in peace”. The prevailing messages were “May you rot in hell”, “I’m going to pee on your grave”, and “Good riddance, you #%&*”.

At the conclusion of the service, Father Mel asked Henry to stand, much in the way a criminal defendant receives his sentence.

“Bless you, Henry. That’s about all I can do. You will now learn your final destination.”

Henry cautiously stood up and looked around the church, trying to comprehend the moment. The same woman who earlier led the chant was clenching her fingers together while mumbling, “The guillotine, the guillotine.”

Henry’s eyes were drawn to a movement at the left side of the altar. The Dark One entered. He smiled confidently as he gave Henry a slight wave. Henry’s eyes turned to the right. His Good Angel entered. She looked somber, and her eyes averted looking Henry in the eye.

Henry felt weak at the knees as the feeling of hopeless desperation nearly dropped him to the floor. He threw a pathetic, pleading look at Father Mel. The good priest made the sign of the cross, turned, and made a hasty exit. The Dark One beckoned as he rubbed his hands together in joyful anticipation, while the Good Angel wiped away a tear. The “Cons” relished the moment.

As Henry took his first painful step out into the aisle, he was distracted by a sound at the back of the church. The heavy wooden door creaked as it slowly opened. Henry surmised that it was a late-arriving antagonist, tardy but just in time to level one final insult. But it wasn’t.

With the door open just a smidge, a little girl with curly blonde hair and wearing a pink dress squeezed her way through the door and into the church. She was holding a small doll.

The little girl walked directly up to Henry and smiled as she looked up at him.

“Do you remember Susie?”

Tears were welling up in Henry’s eyes.

“Yes… I do remember.”

The little girl took Henry by the hand and walked him down the aisle to the front of the church. She turned to the right and delivered Henry to the Good Angel. The little girl's voice was firm, and the directive was certain.

“I know this as sure as I know anything. He belongs with you.”

The crowd was stunned, the Dark One angrily kicked the Communion rail, and the Good Angel wiped away a tear, this time a happy one. Henry wrapped himself in the good feeling he had the day he rescued the little girl’s doll, and the Good Angel escorted him off to a better place.