Retribution

By John Alan Negich

If you loved Marvel's "The Punisher" Denzel Washington in "The Equalizer" or Charles Bronson in the timeless eye for an eye cult classic  movie "Death Wish" then RETRIBUTION is a must read. This book is a tale of justice and vengeance about John Stanic, who was a highly decorated member of the first Army Ranger battalion during WWII. He is now ninety years old and spending his last remaining days at a nursing facility in Pennsylvania, and recounting his complex past to a young priest. On the surface, John appears to be a dying, reclusive and vulgar old man who shuns relationships. However, the priest uncovers a sordid past that is very dark, sinister and mysterious, as well as truly fantastic. John Stanic, as one reader described him, is an individual who will make you cringe as well as cheer for him at nearly the same moment. His personal moral code is a strength that will most definitely scare you. This book is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Alan Negich
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393506997

John Alan Negich

John A. Negich is an outdoor writer and photographer as well as a member of the Pennsylvania Outdoor writers Association. He is an avid hunter and fisherman and strives to convey what a treasure we are blessed with in the woods and streams we are fortunate to have at our disposal.

Book preview

Chapter Two – The Priest

I had thought a lot about my agreement with Shawn since our last encounter and decided that if I was going to share my life with the boy, I needed to know exactly who I was sharing my story with.

Why the hell did I agree to such a foolish agreement in the first place? I wondered. Maybe he just caught me in a weak and vulnerable moment. That is what priests, pastors and ministers do you know. They target people that are in a deep dark place and attempt to convince them that by giving their life to God that the burden will be lifted and they will be set free from their dire situation.

Could it be that all of us here at Greystone were to him, just like shooting fish in a barrel? After all most of us here had one foot in the grave already. Hell, I guess he figured I had both feet in the grave and could barely see over the top rim of the hole. I was a fucking sitting duck.

What he didn’t realize was that I really didn’t fear dying and was not a bit sorry for most of the things I did in my life. I was sorry for some of the things life had dealt out to me, but I always figured that was just the way it worked here on earth. However, had I known how shitty this getting old routine would be, I may have feared that phase of life a little more. Old age just kind of sneaks up on you slowly. Until one day, you wake up, and face the realization that almost everything hurts. You can’t remember what the hell you had for breakfast. You have little to look forward to and almost nothing brings you joy.

I had myself convinced that he was preying on my emotions, especially my fear of death, and that he assumed I would welcome the opportunity to have my soul cleansed, accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior and dance into Heaven blessed with eternal life and singing with the other Angels.

What Shawn did not know was that when you reach a point when life loses all of its highs and lows, pain is your constant companion, all of the people you loved are gone, you don’t necessarily fear dying, and you very well, might embrace it.

When Shawn walked in, and before he could say a word, I said, Sit down we need to talk.

Don’t tell me. You have thought it over and have reconsidered our agreement.

No Kid, I said. I am not going to renege on our deal. I’m still going to tell you my story. I just want to make sure I know who the God damned audience is.

That would be me John.

I know that son, I snapped. But I really don’t know you young man.  All I know about you is that you are a Catholic priest that has come here trying to save my soul.  Son, you are about to find out things about me that nobody else in the world knows, and I expect to know all there is to know about Shawn O’Donnell before I start spilling my guts. So go ahead and start talking.

Just like that you want me to tell you exactly who I am? Shawn puzzled.

Yes, my boy, I said, Just like that.

Shawn looked puzzled and surprised but after a long moment of silence and contemplation he began to speak.

Very well John. First of all, my full name is Shawn Aengus O’Donnell.

Why in hells name would any parent name their kid after a fucking cow? I interrupted

"My middle name Aengus is not at all about a cow. It is simply because one of my father’s favorite poems was The Song of Wandering Aengus by Irish poet William Butler Yeats. You see, my father fancied himself quite a fisherman and he took a shine to one of the verses in that poem."

Do you remember the verse?

Sure do. He recited it often when I was a child.

Well?

Must I really?

Shawn, today I am the audience. You will get your turn next week.

"Let me see........ OK here goes."

I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head, and cut and peeled a hazel wand, and hooked a berry to a thread; and when white moths were on the wing, and moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream, and caught a little silver trout.

It is refreshing to know that your father put some thought to your name. I think it is a fine name.

You might just as well hear the rest of the story, Shawn grimaced a little but continued. The name O’Donnell was derived from the Irish name Domhnall which means ‘ruler of the world’ and Shawn is Irish for John and means Gift from God. So, as you can see by what he named me that it was somewhat pre-ordained by my father that I would be a fisherman as well as a servant of God. In addition, if the name John is indeed given to those of us who might be gifts from God, you and I have more in common than you may think.

I am relatively sure that I am not in any way a gift from God, but I can see that you certainly are a servant of your God, but were you the fisherman your father hoped you would be?

At first I wasn’t. My father was a devoted fly fisherman and very adept at the art of casting as well as catching, and in the beginning I was far from his level of expertise. It is a very frustrating form of fishing for an adult, let alone a kid, but my dad was intent on making me good at it. I lost more flies in trees and snapped more leaders than you could imagine.

Was he a good teacher? I questioned.

He was absolutely the best teacher. Even though my patience was very thin as a youngster, my dad had more patience with me than you can imagine. He would simply sit with me on the bank after one of my mistakes and calmly explain over and over why it had happened and what I should do to correct my casting to prevent it from happening again. We would take breaks from the fishing aspect and practice tying knots together or spend time discussing what trout fed on and what particular flies or nymphs were best suited for the conditions.

Fly fishing seems like a real pain in the ass if you don’t mind me saying so. I was a worm dunker myself. I said smiling.

I think bait fishing is a fine and productive method of fishing if in fact you are looking to put a meal on the table, but I don’t ever remember my father keeping a single trout that he caught.

You mean you threw them all back?

Of course we did, it is called catch and release fishing, he said proudly.

I looked at him with a puzzled look and remember saying, Well that is just stupid.

That may sound stupid to you, John, but that’s the way he was and the way he taught me to be. We enjoyed the hunt much more that we did the kill. Fly fishing is a lot like hunting and that is what intrigued me about that particular type of fishing. A good fly fisherman needs to study the water because there are certain places where fish hold to feed or seek cover to hide from predators or to avoid bright sun. Once the fisherman identifies those places, he or she then must approach the spot with stealth as to not be detected and then make a perfect cast if the fish is going to be hooked.

Is that how you feel about me, Shawn? Am I just a sinner that is hiding from salvation and you are sneaking up on me trying to hook me and release me to your God?

"Wow that is some pretty deep stuff. I can see how your twisted mind can make that correlation but no, I am just trying to explain fly fishing to you. You have already promised to give me a written confession and in my mind we are beyond the hook the sinner stage of our relationship. OK?

Very well Shawn Aengus O’Donnell. I apologize.

Please just continue to call me Shawn.

OK kid but I am curious about how your mother felt about the names your father chose for you?

My mother, Sadie, God rest her soul, did not have a say in such matters. As I recall, my father, Jack Shawn O’Donnel, believed that a woman’s place was not to be involved in decision making and her job was to keep a clean house, cook, do his bidding and raise me. She did all that and was a fine mother, an obedient wife and died a horrible death from cancer when I was six.

I am truly sorry about your mother but it sounds to me like your old man was a controlling son of a bitch.

He, indeed, liked to be in charge, but he was also a very good man in many ways. He was a tireless worker who owned and operated an auto body shop (Shamrock Collision Service) in Jeannette. He made sure I had a fine home, paid for my education and was elated that his son had chosen become a priest.

So you lived in Jeannette?

No, we lived in Murrysville but my father’s shop was in Jeannette. It was about eight miles from Murrysville.

I know where Jeannette is. I remember it well. I loved to eat at Harry’s Pizza on Lowry Avenue and we would go to the Manos Theater there when Natalie and I wanted to see a movie. You know that pizza used to be ten cents a slice at Harry’s. Can you imagine that, ten cents a slice? I paused and smiled a faraway smile before continuing. Does your father still live there?

No, he was killed at work when a jack collapsed pinning him under an automobile he was working on the year that I was ordained. He was able to attend only precious few of my masses

It seemed after this brief conversation, Shawn and I had more in common than I might have ever imagined. We had both experienced tragedy and loss at a very young age.

I am sure he would have been very proud of you.

Yes, he would have. He was a devout Catholic and his dream was to see me, as he put it, ‘become a fisher of men’ like Jesus. It was all he ever wanted for me. We attended the Mother of Sorrows Catholic Church in Murrysville and my father was a strong supporter and tither. He told everyone at every chance he got that I wanted to be a priest.

Was it what you wanted?

Yes, I suppose it was.

So you had doubts?

Of course I had doubts. To say I didn’t would be a lie.

What type of doubts, Shawn?

Shawn stared out the window for a long moment before he spoke.

When I was a junior at Franklin Regional High School, I was attracted to a very pretty young lady named Mary Louise Evankovich from Export. She was a cheerleader and I believed she may have been attracted to me also. I found myself going to the home basketball games just to watch her even though I had no interest in basketball at all. She also sat in front and to the left of me in biology class and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. She was stunning with short black hair and huge brown eyes. Occasionally she would glance back and catch me staring at her and smile. You know the kind of smile that sent the message that she felt the same way about me.

I sure know that kind of smile kid, I sure do I said smiling. Keep going.

Eventually we began talking together after class, and one afternoon near her locker I finally got up enough courage to ask her for a date. To my surprise, she accepted. I never told my father this as I feared he would have been greatly disappointed in me. Anyway, we had been going out for a couple of weeks and on one warm summer night at the drive in movie she leaned over, removed my glasses and kissed me. We reacted as you would expect two teenagers with raging hormones to react. One thing led to another until I found myself reaching into her blouse and she reaching for the zipper in my pants.

As Shawn paused I remember detecting a hint of deep sadness on his face, but in an attempt to add a little levity to the situation I remember asking excitedly, Did you score?

No, you filthy minded old man, I did not score, and if you let me finish without making this a discussion to satisfy your pornographic mind, I will continue.

I realized that I had struck a chord on a subject that was very sensitive to him, so I apologized and asked him to please go on.

I stopped her and said that I could not do this. I still remember the surprised and embarrassed look on her face. With her cheeks flushed, her lipstick smeared and her blouse partly open she timidly whispered, ‘Why Shawn?’

I will also never forget her comment when I told her I was planning to be a priest and had taken a vow of celibacy to my father and the church. Her eyes were wide with surprise and while she hurriedly straightened her hair and buttoned her blouse she looked at me and said, You’re not a queer are you?

Well, I guess that was the end of a beautiful relationship I said with a smirk.

It was the end of a romance, but it was not the end of our relationship. After what was an awkward moment that night for both of us we became very close friends and provided each other with a shoulder to cry on and shared things that only best friends share with each other. She was a God send for me during that time. Although she was very popular and had a great number of friends in high school, I did not. I guess when other kids know you want to be a priest, that you are identified as someone who does not quite fit into many other social groups or gatherings. Besides In addition to focusing on what was to be my profession, I was a bookworm, I had to be. In order to get into the priesthood, I had to be an excellent student with good grades, so I was studying all the time. I must admit that I felt like a bit of an outcast during my junior and senior years. To most of the other students I was just a weirdo redheaded geek with wire rimmed glasses who wanted to be a priest. As a result it seemed everyone avoided me, everyone that is, except her. It seemed she was the only one that recognized my plight. He sighed before continuing. She now owns and operates a beauty shop on Main Street in Export and attends mass with her parents every Sunday. She sits in the front pew.

I am glad that that story had a happy ending.

Shawn smiled and said Oh it didn’t end there. She supported me and stayed in touch all during my years in college and without her support I might not have made it through to get my degree and to complete studies at the seminary.

You mentioned that you have to be an excellent student to become a priest, attend college and then seminary. Run me through that process if you will. It sounds like a long road.

OK I’ll be happy to. You are correct. The road is almost as long as it is to become a medical doctor. I applied to and was accepted at the University of Pittsburgh. Catholic priests are typically required to have a bachelor's degree, and I finished mine in four years. The degree may be in any field of study, but the church prefers a candidate to pursue degrees that can easily relate to religious studies and service, such as in English, philosophy, religion, communications or history. I majored in religious studies with a minor in philosophy and was proud to say I finished Suma Cum Laude with a 3.95 grade point average.

So you were a smart kid?

"I’m not sure how smart I was. I relate being smart to inherent knowledge and common sense, not simply the memorization of facts. My father was a very, very smart man who could build anything and solve problems that I could not even begin to tackle. I hope that someday I will be half as smart as he was. However, I studied hard, and will say, that at that point in my life I was well