Who Will Tell Them?

Articles

Chris Falcon

Who Will Tell Them?
Aug 12, 2003

"Please help me. My tires are slashed." says a woman's husky voice to me over the phone. "I wake up to find, two, three, sometimes even four slashed tires in a day.

She supects it is done by a group of older teens who hang out on her street corner in the city and do PCB...I am a reporter and she is asking me to write up her story, since she has gotten no help from police.

I can't do her story now.

It is Sunday so there are only two other reporters here.

One is giggling and whispering into her black plastic phone, while earing homemade chocolate cookies out of a bag.

The other is staring at her computer, totally absorbed and I can hear the sound of her story falling onto the keyboard.

I definately need to go for the one with the cookies. I ask.

The answer is no.

I tell the woman I'm sorry.

But I don't mention to her that my house recently burned down, that I lost everything, that I have two kids and that I understand heartache and hardship and can hear it in her voice. .. And long to do something for her.

Instead, I hear the click as she hangs up.

I stare at the black plastic phone receiver for a moment.

I try to continue writing. But the day has become different.

Should I be eating homemade cookies out of a baggie and be laughing too?

Instead, I am humming a song to myself.....the words are making me remember a day when I was dropping a very interesting friend off at work.

Her name was Joy and she needed a ride to a VBS, which is a summer week-long, church activity kind- of thing for kids.

When we arrived, two entire busloads of kids were being dropped off so the kids from a "poor" area could attend the VBS.

They were directed to long lines of cushiony folding chairs, and were then taught the words to a song that touched me.

The song was called, "Who will tell them?"

Somehow seeing these really, really unruly kids learn to sing this song was making me feel like crying but I didn't know why.

It was a very large group of kids...scooting back and forth between aisles.....shouting...playing tag smack in front of the teachers....some kids pushing each other, some even hitting ...calling each other names.....and I began to see it was funny that the adults were singing over and over again..."Who will tell them?"

I was wondering why the church people in charge were snapping at the kids.

The woman in charge said she would deny the "snack." If they did not behave immeditately.

Bedlam continued.

A blond woman, leaning at the doorway spotted me...she told me much later.. she saw my light bulb going on...saw the words were striking a chord for me...and made note to introduce herself to me at the end of the week.

I couldn't staying to see the crazy scene. I suspected the kids were hungry. And that the "snack" was not a good thing to withdraw as a punishment.

The woman in charge made an announcement..one more incident and "no snack."

I heard the most unruly kids of all moan..and I boldy went to squat next to the biggest of them...and I said, " You make a good leader."

He was shocked. "Yeah? Thanks. What do you mean?"

"I noticed whatever you say, the kids do. Imagine if you told them to sit? They would."

"Sit!" he said absolutely immediately. And they all did.

"Imagine if you complimented them or something..or told them anything you thought would help keep the snack? Because she's saying you won't get it...Does it matter to you?"

"Yeah.That ain't no small snack. It's hot dogs and hamburgers. It's why we're here."

"What do you mean?"

"Our parents send us on the bus cause they know if you put your kids on the bus they go some place to eat. That's why we're here. We're hungry."

"I will get you the snack," I promised him.

. "How? She's the Mean-Lady. We know her from last year."

I walked up the center aisle...even though I was a stranger to the place...And I said to Mean- Lady, "Give them one more chance."

"NO! They have to learn."

"They're misbehaving partly out of being hungry."

"Nonesense. It's a snack."

"It's a snack to YOU.To them it's dinner."

"Nonsense."

"Have you ever wondered why the parents put their kids on a bus year after year on a street corner in the city? Think they are bad parents or stupid? They are hoping for their kids to get food, even while the parents themselves don't. This is dinner for kids who haven't eaten. You're taking away the very reason the kids are here. TRY being kind to them."

The woman was silent. She glared at me. She looked at the kids.

I said to her,"If anyone mishaves after they go to their classrooms, send them to me. Instead of a punishment."

"You WANT them?"

"I will tell them what they need to know. Send them to me. Everyone who misbehaves. Promise me, if it works, they can all eat."

She disappeared to talk to the other adults and came back, saying, "Okay. No one can believe you want them..but okay."

So I stayed in the large, center room, while all the kids went to their classrooms.

I was alone in the middle of 112 folding chairs. Bored. Very. Needing to be other places too.

There was a big wreath hanging from the ceiling over me. And children's pictures taped onto the walls. I could hear voices from classrooms.

I saw adults open one door and walk thru another door.

Then footsteps.

Then the Kid-leader.

"They threw me out."

"It's okay. Sit with me," I said.

I asked him what he wanted to be most in life.

He said he wanted most in life to be a basketball player but said he could never do it.

Then more footsteps.

It was his cousin, Ricky. "They threw me out."

"It's okay. Sit with us. "Ricky, what do you want to be most in life?"

And so it went on until we were 13, 14, 15...it grew and grew.

Guess what?

At a certain point, Ricky snuck back into the classrooms to say it was much better in the main room and for everyone to try to get thrown out of their classroom.

Mean-lady came out to see what was going on.

"There are no children in the clasrooms. What have you done? Why, you could hear a pin drop out here..what is going on?"

I ignored her.

Ricky was explaining to the others, as if he were my interpreter, that you really can do anything you want in life and that I could help them with suggestions too...like I had just done for David...I had said I would set David up with a mentor because he wanted to be a policeman. Everyone had laughed, when David said that is what he wanted to be....because of the irony that everyone knows the cops are often called to his house...

But the embarrassed boy nonetheless whispered to me while they were laughing...that his Dad hits his Mom... and that he is grateful to the policemen who come to the house...because his Dad stops then... and the litle boy said that he wants to be like the policeman who comes to the house.

The Mean-lady interrupted us. She announced it was time for snack. The boys smiled at me.

"How'd you do that?" The kid-leader asked? We weren't gettin no snack.Now we are!"

They ate the hamburgers and hot dogs. The Mean- lady and her co-workers wanted to know how the magic had been worked.

I told them, gently, to listen to the words of the song next time we'd sing it. And explained what I'd done in the circle of folding chairs with the kids who were all thrown out.

At the closing ceremony that day....the blond woman approached me and asked me who I'd told what to that week! It so made me laugh. I had not seen her watching me. She knew something would happen and came to hear about it, because she'd seen me with tears when I was first observing the kids and the Mean-Lady. We became friends. Her name is Jean.

Every year, I go back to that same VBS, to see the boys, as they have asked me to check in on them each year....it happened about four years ago......and they are now in summer teen police academies and on basketball teams and in theatre...etc...making their longings reality...and passing the word on to other kids...and adults....Keeping the words of the song close to their hearts...

So.... I am here in the newsroom......remembering the song...and I am thinking about the fact that I just hung up on someone I clearly knew needed help.

I can't call her back. I didn't get her number or name. So..what can I do?

Let's see........next time I see someone short a dollar, or two or three, in front of me on line at the store, instead of blankly staring, unconcerned as they put items back..I can pay for them.

Next time I see someone unable to get in to traffic I can wave them in...If I am cut off..I can just smile anyway....

And next time someone calls in for a story and they are turned down..I will get the number...So I can at least call them and tell them the good news...that I will try to be there for them. And that there is a better way of life. And that people do care about you.........

Like the song, "Who will tell them?"

I will.

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About the author: Chrissa Falcon is a newspaper reporter in the New York Metropolitan Area. Chrissa may be reached at ChrisFalconColumn@hotmail.com

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