Begin Again

By Paul Lowance Niebanck

Drawn from joys lost and regained, these short stories invite you to share a life: friendship, joy,  missteps, humility and loves.

Reading this book is like sitting down

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niebanck Associates
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578653884

Book preview

GOT MY LUCK

1

they tell me

rides are easy to get

it’s route 66 after all

westbound

I’m smart

find a spot just past the main intersection right

next to a parking lot in

front of a line of stores and a

luncheonette with a

red and white sign and a

red and white clock

Albuquerque is hot even in

January even at

nine in the a.m.

which is when I set up

practice my pose

right arm cocked

thumb out

left arm loose

hand open

nothing to hide

slumpy brown suitcase at my feet

old topcoat thrown over it

I needed that coat in Denver

hell I needed a lot of things in Denver

things I never got

good luck for one

we make our own luck

or not

2

10 o’clock. 11. 12. 1.

it gets hotter

I shake myself loose

up and down on my toes

gulp the last

of the water in my canteen

and wait

god it’s hot

I’ve got ten bucks and change

if I go get a coke and a burger

I’ll be almost broke

I’ll miss my luck

3

2 o’clock. 3. 4.

it’s way too hot

shoes burning my feet

pants burning my legs

skull burning my brain

screech…

hot enough to melt

melted can’t hear

can’t think

can’t move

hey, ya wanna lift or not?

right front door is open

grab my stuff

rip myself away from my spot

slump into the seat

slam the door

4

driver’s in battle fatigues

two guys in the back

dark back there

that’s all I know

nobody talks

fine with me

post-war Plymouth

my father had one

dashboard says 6 o’clock 7

must have left something behind

mountains in the distance small

stand still

clock says 8 o’clock 9

right

left all of it behind

sun hanging low in the sky ahead

stands still too

stares at me

burns my eyes

right

left all of it behind

ripped myself away

maybe I’ve I got my luck

5

All out!

one stop outside Flagstaff

bathroom

gas

middle of the night no food

me here

stars all over the black sky

doesn’t make sense

driver comes over

how about ten bucks to help with the gas?

freeze for a sec’

that’s what I’ve got, ten bucks I say

show him two fives

half’s good enough he says.

give him a fiver and

dive into the seat

right behind him

that’s the safe spot

they call the passenger seat

the death seat

I should know

I do know

nobody complains which seat

the other guys switch around

they’re easy

they’re cool

they’re tired

I blank out again

6

wake up with the shakes

no it’s

the car

the heavy Plymouth

heaving around curves

doing a slalom at 80

down the mountain

car slows

signs say Riverside

Ontario

Pomona

Pasadena

7

LA

getting light

sun hits a tall building

maybe my lucky sign

where d’ya want me to drop ya?

downtown YMCA I say

got it

know the place

8

we’re there

I’m out

they’re gone

I’m here

9

give you a room

nine dollars a week

pay at the end of the week

be made up by 9 o’clock

clock behind the clerk says 5 a.m.

eight hundred miles

twelve hours,

one driver

they came from

somewhere back east

Quantico maybe

turn around

breakfast bar just opened

think fast

tell you what, I say to the cook,

I’ve got this topcoat

you take it

give me orange juice

corn flakes and pancakes

every day

until I get a job

then I pay

and I get my coat back

It’s a deal he says

no sweat

10

buy a paper

sit on a wall in

Pershing Square

people there

all different but

all look like me

study the want ads

mark what looks good

I brought my own pencil

back to the Y

gotta get a nap

gotta clean up before I

hit the streets

around noon

11

wake up

eerie quiet

open the window

gray sky light traffic

Baby Ben says five o’clock

what’s up it’s

too quiet to be afternoon

ask a guy in the head

it’s morning he says

you crazy he says

must have slept twenty hours I say

get going

get a shower

shave my face

eat my Corn Flakes pancakes

drink my

orange juice

front desk has a

a street map

to borrow

outa here

got enough cash for buses

12

8 o’clock. 9

sign says

warehouse worker wanted

$1.18 an hour

three months eligible for

Longshoremen’s Union

bump to $1.38

take it

California here I am

got my luck

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

Denver, Colorado. My first Christmas away from home.

I had been working at the bakery for two months. It was good work. I made a living wage, $0.98 an hour. I had a title, Apprentice Baker, and my union membership gave me an informal kind of job security. The bakers teased me, the new kid from the East with brains in his lid, but they liked me and they were patient with my blind clumsiness. I even made a friend: David and I played pool and ping pong at the downtown Y, and we signed up for a square dance class, to begin after the holiday season.

Best of all, my employer was the Continental Baking Company, which was a big deal company in those days. Wonder Bread was on every family’s table, and Hostess Cupcakes were in every child’s lunchbox. I was proud to be working for a major corporation.

My living situation was great, too. But it didn’t start out that way. When I first got off the Greyhound bus from Memphis, the only thing I found was an old rooming house, and that turned out to be a scary choice. The building was full of middle-aged single men who were hungry for young guys like me. One man in particular, Howard, gave me the willies, waiting for me when I came in off my shift, promising to introduce me to his daughter but all the while making passes at me.

A month of that, and the newspaper ads led me to Mrs. Grimes’s house. She was hungry for company too, but she was very kind and solicitous. And a great cook. We got along great. I felt secure.

It was two days before Christmas when Andy, the foreman, told everybody what we could expect on Christmas Day. Punch in at 6 a.m. and we’d be guaranteed at least ten hours: time and a half for eight hours, double-time if we stayed longer. In one day, I’d be taking home almost twice as much as Mrs. Grimes charged me per week for a bed and two meals a day. Terrific!

My Baby Ben went off at 4:30. I figured there would be no buses that early on Christmas, but I could walk the four miles to the factory in an hour. No sweat. I peeled an orange and wolfed two bowls of Wheaties with a banana. That took ten minutes. When I got to work, I would have plenty of time to swallow some coffee and a couple of cupcakes—they were free for employees—and be at my station by 6.

I glanced out the window. A white Christmas! I couldn’t wait to get out. I put on my heavy sweater, the only warm piece of clothing I had stuffed into my duffel when I left Tennessee. Plus, I had rubbers, raincoat and scarf. I could handle cold and snow: I’d seen plenty of white Christmases back home.

When I opened the front door, whoops! It was all snow: the air, the ground, the background. It was two, maybe three feet deep, right in front of me. The entire scene was solid snow! I would have to make my way almost from memory, and I would have to run!

So I ran! I threw myself into the whiteness. That is, I stumbled, this way and that, through the deep snow, for several blocks. Exhausted, I leaned forward, breathed heavily, calmed down, and tried to use my head. I hadn’t run cross-country and track in high school for nothing, after all. Settle down, Paul. Find a pace, and a style. Get in a rhythm. Maintain it.

And I did what my mind told me to do. Bend one knee; leap on the other. Bend the other; leap on the one. It was something like doing high hurdles from a standing position. That was my strategy, and that’s what I did. Ordinarily, I was attentive to opportunities for zigzags and crosscuts, but today only the major arterials had been plowed. Even they were a foot deep, not counting the potholes and drifts. And the side streets were impassable. When I entered the changing room, the clock read 6:55.

My eyeglasses steamed up, so I laid them down and considered my situation. I needed to dry my head, take my wet stuff off, and screw my brain back in. How will I explain myself to Andy? I was on the verge of tears.

You’re late. Go home. Andy had come in from the plant floor.

I was blubbering. But you need every hand. It’s Christmas, and you said that the day after Christmas is always a big day for bread and sweets, and that you’d need us all to work a long day today.

Never mind what I you think I need. You need to be here on time. Go home.

I’ve got no home.

Find one, then.

He was gone.

I waited for a minute, and tried to imagine how it would be if I just walked onto the factory floor. Then I put two doughnuts and two bear claws in a bag, wiped my glasses, and left.

I wished for a bus, yeah, lots of luck. I thought about thumbing a ride, but in no way did I want to explain myself to anybody. A movie would be good, but they wouldn’t open till after noon. The Y was too far away, and it might not even be open. I stood outside the plant and let my tears mingle with the snow beating sideways onto my face.

I punched the air and growled. Andy’s behavior brought back Joe Sager, my gym teacher back in high school. The time I busted my head, trying to retrieve a basketball. The kids noticed the bleeding and called to the teacher, but, rather than giving me any assistance, Mr. Sager blamed me and kicked me out of gym class for the rest of the school year. Worse than that, he demanded that I keep the matter to myself, and he made me sit in the bleachers during gym. He even made me take a shower just like all the other boys, to prove that nothing had happened.

I growled again, stomped the ground, and took off. I found an empty lot, and built two snowmen. One was Andy the Asshole. The other was Sager the Sadist. I broke limbs from the trees nearby and stuck them in as ears and eyes. I packed three-dozen snowballs as hard as I could make them, and hurled them, close range, at the heads of the snowmen.

Then I collapsed, threw myself down, and cried some more.

The slow walk back to Mrs. Grimes’s took until almost four o’clock. The snowfall had intensified, and the plows hadn’t come back for a second run. I took my time, and fell into a steady pace. Oh, well. She’ll be happy to have company on Christmas Day…She’ll make a nice dinner—I do like her mashed potatoes and gravy…Maybe they’ll have a Christmas show on television…Tomorrow’s another day, and the other guys will be sympathetic with my situation. . .

By the time I got to Mrs. Grimes’s, a smile was on my face. I had forgiven Andy. He would have had to make a special effort himself to be on time this morning. And it’s likely that every one of his workers was late in some degree. I could see him, getting itchy, and mouthing his frustration. It could even be that, when the guy before me came in half an hour late, he yelled, The next man who comes in that door, I’m going to fire him on the spot! I laughed with that fantasy, concluding that he favored me enough not to follow through on that threat when I finally showed up. Who knows? It might have been that the next guy to come in was the one he fired—or the guy who never showed up at all.

It was almost 4 o’clock when I opened Mrs. Grimes’s door. When she heard me, she rushed to meet me. I laughed. She laughed. I hoped and hoped that you’d get here by suppertime, she said, "so I’ve got roast chicken and mashed potatoes and peas on the stove. And A Christmas Carol will be on at five; we can watch it while we eat."

I laughed again. What a day. I couldn’t wait to change into dry clothes and tell Mrs. Grimes about what happened.

After Scrooge, they showed Miracle on 34th Street, and we watched it too. I looked over at Mrs. Grimes, and saw that she had been softly crying.

I’m so glad that you decided to spend Christmas Day with me.

You’re welcome, I said.

I appreciate your coming home before dark. When you told me about the double-time, I figured I wouldn’t see you till bedtime. And thank you for the sweets. Let’s eat the cupcakes now, with tea. We can save the sticky buns for breakfast.

Thank you for the Christmas presents, Mrs. Grimes—the dinner, I mean, and your company.

It was time for bed. Would you like to sing ‘Silent Night?’ she asked.

We did, and we sang, Away in a Manger, too.

KEEPS ME SINGING

Billy’s calling was to save people, and Billy did a good job on me. He spoke a language that I’d been taught, a Christian language, but inside his words was a universal, and very personal, truth. I heard Billy say, If you want to be yourself, you must give yourself up. You must do this not just one time, but repeatedly, through your whole life. Let go. Get low. Listen for the message that is meant for you. Do it again and again, as many times as you need to do it.

*

I first discovered Billy Graham by way of the little red radio that I kept at my bedside during high school.

On Friday evenings came the nationwide broadcast of Billy Graham’s Hour of Decision, a lively program of singing, praying and preaching, each time ending with Billy’s invitation to listeners to commit themselves to Jesus and thereby to renew their lives. Backing up his invitation was a choir, singing softly.

Just as I am, though tossed about,

With many a conflict, many a doubt,

Fighting within and fear without,

O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

How comforting, how affirming, for me, who was for all intents and purposes a lost soul, to hear that voice and respond in my heart to that call.

*

After high school, I made my way to Chattanooga, Denver, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Baltimore.…I went back and forth, school to work, work to school, over and over again. One time, I was in Louisville, and liking it. The downtown YMCA was a pleasant place to live. The public library was close at hand. Likewise, the main street, with its big movie theater and plenty of cafes and corners where I could hang out. I had a job that I enjoyed. But everything was entry level. I was treading water.

The Courier-Journal headline read, BILLY GRAHAM CRUSADE

TO BEGIN. My mind flew back to the Hour of Decision, and forward to the unknown. It was this same unknown that had inspired my flight from home in the first place. This time, I felt inside myself a stirring of responsibility, a nascent commitment, to that unknown.

I made sure to attend the opening night of the Crusade. It was everything that I could have imagined. The amphitheater, filled to capacity. The crowd, making a sweet murmur of a sound. The Crusade choir, its members drawn from churches all around the region, belting out the Crusade anthem,

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior, all the day long-

This – is – my – sto – ry, this is my song,

Praising my Savior, all – the – day – long!

George Beverly Shea, drawing us down and in with his resonant bass voice.

Then sings my soul,

My Savior God to Thee,

How great Thou art—

How great Thou art!

Cliff Barrows, directing our singing with vigor and precision. Ted Smith, playing virtuoso organ. Billy Graham himself, rising from the rear of the platform, to give thanks to everyone and to offer a prayer.

I was ecstatic.

Then, Billy’s sermon, and I heard this: "You may be oppressed, or under a burden of guilt. You may feel confused, lost. You may not know where your future lies, or where to turn for help….

There is a way that is open to you, that calls you through, to a place where you can know yourself freshly and confidently, a place where you will be free.

At the end of his sermon Billy urged us to get up out of your seat and come forward: that’s all you need to do. It was as though Billy was speaking to each person individually. I watched, rapt. The choir continued to sing. A few people went forward. Then, scores. Several hundred. Then, no more.

Billy spoke again, There are still a few of you, way up in the balcony, who would like to come. Come, we will wait for you. I felt a stirring in my heart. I hesitated. I’m not part of this community. I have no right….

But Billy has just said that each of us—that everybody everywhere has an equal right—that there are no exceptions or exclusions in God’s sight.

I rose and made my way down to join the group of others who had preceded me.

When the service ended, we who had come forward gathered in a side room. Billy greeted us, offered a prayer, and left with his characteristic, May the Lord bless you, real good.

I felt the blessing, and I sensed the possibility.

*

The next day, I was knocking on the door of a local Lutheran pastor. At the Crusade each of us who came forward had been asked to name the church to which we would like to be referred. I was stumped, but I blurted out, Lutheran.

The pastor greeted me cordially, but it turned out that he hadn’t been part of the Crusade planning. Indeed, he was only incidentally aware of the Crusade. He didn’t even care about it. I explained it to him as best I could. That was that. We shook hands, and I left his office.

On my way to the bus stop, I shook my head and tried to get my bearings. Last night, I had felt ecstatic. Now, I felt hollow. I prayed, May the Lord bless me, real good.

I resolved to return to the Crusade. I invited Lois Evans, a new friend whom I had met at a workshop in Atlanta, and who lived in southern Indiana, to join me. She drove down to meet me for supper, and we walked to the Crusade. I trusted Lois, a straight shooter of a Hoosier, to help me.

We sat on the ground floor of the amphitheater, where we could get a feel for the people who would respond to Billy’s altar call. It was a grand experience: we held hands as they passed by, old and young, Black and white, healthy and disabled, some with broad grins and chins high, others with tears flowing and downcast eyes.

Have thine own way, Lord,

have thine own way:

Thou art the potter, I am the clay.

Mold me and make me after thy will,

While I am waiting, yielded and still.

*

Feeling stronger, I decided to return to Tarrytown, my hometown, and look for a job. I took up residence in the YMCA. I liked it there, and became a volunteer. After a few months, the Executive Secretary of the Y invited me to become its Youth and Program Secretary. I had no credentials, and no professional experience, but he saw my potential, and, indeed, I took to the job.

I was thrice blessed. The job was one blessing. A second blessing was that I fell into association with members of the Christian Endeavor Society, in whose company I shared a stirring of ethical commitment and joie de vivre.

The third blessing was that Billy Graham came to New York City.

The New York Crusade turned out to be the high point in Billy’s career as an evangelist. It was held at Madison Square Garden, and it broke all records for attendance. More amazing still, the Garden had to cancel any number of major events so that the Crusade could be extended.

I had to attend. I called my new friend, Harriet Merwin, and, on a warm Sunday morning, off we went.

The Crusade was Harriet’s first trip to the City: two hours in the most famous arena in America, plus time afterwards to let our friendship build. When the service was over, we waited until the Garden was almost empty. Then we made our way slowly out and up Eighth Avenue and across 42nd Street to Times Square. There, I bought us a hot dog and a cherry coke. After ogling the monster advertisements, we explored the theater district and meandered to Grand Central Terminal. The sun was setting behind us as we walked. We sat in the terminal and talked. We let two trains go by, and took the third.

On the forty-minute train ride home, Harriet laid her head on my shoulder, and seemed to drift off. I sang to her the songs we had heard earlier in the day. In particular was the one that Ethel Waters had sung—and would