Lee Payne sat alone on a park bench, gripping the worn leather journal to his chest and facing the Lady in the Harbor. President Grover Cleveland had dedicated her on a blustery autumn day last year. Lee thought of the immigrants but, above all, of the Irish street urchin called Malachi O’Malley and the lofty promise the president had made that we would not neglect one of them. Just a few years ago, Lee’s family had been willing to fight although it had not been necessary in their environment prior to the war. Certain things had spawned the whole idea the responsibility for family, farm, and freedom. For that, they gave all. And when it was over, Lee had inherited that same courage and his fair portion of the righteous desire to protect and preserve in his own generation.
He wiped the sweat from his face and contemplated what he was about to do. But did he really want to taint the pages of the beautiful piece of leather with so disdainful a narrative because he was obsessed with certain intentions? He leaned back on the park bench, his face toward the sun, and clutched his journal as if it were some treasured manuscript ready for the publishers consent. It was his a contrasting life story unfolding with a proper portion of fear and confidence, of despair and hope, and of defeat and victory. And so he would add to the story as it unfolded the good and the bad and the hope for a bright tomorrow not only for himself but also to those he knew would need him most.
