1967 Summer of Love - Part Four
Book One - In the Beginning was the Word. The unauthorized biography of Jake and Elwood Blues, the early years.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Blues Brothers or any related characters created by Dan Aykroyd, John Belushi, Ron Gwynne, John Landis, Mitch Glazer, Judith Jacklin, Tino Insana, and others. The events in this story occur approximately thirteen years prior to the movie. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Continued from part three
Curtis returned his focus to the ribbon unraveling in the headlights. In the backseat, we looked at each other, sighing in harmony. The rhythm of the road reverberated within us, marching us into our memories.
Back in ‘49, Jake’s mama, Artesia Papageorge,1 died in prison giving birth after murdering her husband. No one believed she was guilty, ‘cept for the prosecutor and judge. No one knew how she got pregnant in the middle of all of them ladies in the Dwight Illinois Women’s Correctional Institute. She just was. Between each contraction, Artesia kept begging the nurse to promise to name her baby Jake. After 36 hours in labor, Jacob E. Papageorge came into the world howlin’ while passing his mama on her way out moanin’.
Or so we’re told.
In the late afternoon of the Second Sunday of Advent almost five years later, Saul Alinsky,2 a narrow man with broad shoulders and goodly hands, was hot-footin’ it from one after-mass community meeting in South Holland over to another in Burnham. At the fulcrum, he tossed a dime into a newsstand and reached in the bin for a Gazette in exchange. Instead, Saul pulled out eight pounds, wrapped in silent nativity. A few minutes later the beat cop of steely eyes and matching moustache saw the man on the scene and accepted early delivery of a Christmas miracle.
With the swaddled infant tucked into his right arm, Officer Joseph Delaney walked through the winding back alleys between the rubber and steel factories. Where the smokestacks clawed at the sky, black blood boiled the sun gangrenous. Even when allowed to shine through to the tautly stretched asphalt threads tying together the town, none of the sun’s heat ever entered.
Delaney hesitated before trudging into the dusty shadow of the wooden cross that judged each trespass. Ahead, St. Helen of the Blessed Shroud Orphanage persevered where many feared to tread. He reached the landing with his soul still intact and infant still in tow. His knuckles rapping briskly on the black wooden door, he was amazed that the infant hadn’t made a peep.
“Good evening, Sister Mary,” he smiled as she opened the door.
The skin at the corners of her mouth and eyes cracked when she smiled in return. She was one of those nuns who didn’t look forward to the idea of a Second Vatican Council, even before the idea was conceived. Dressing in black was Sister Mary’s habit, but also her preference. In her eyes, Maria von Trapp was nothing but a treasonous tramp. “Good evening, Officer Delaney. I see you have traveled to our doorstep with a babe in arms. I wasn’t aware Chicago’s finest Irish enjoyed irony.”
Delaney looked puzzled, “Sister?”
“Today is the lighting of the Bethlehem Candle,3 Joseph. Here you come to this meager manger of orphans to give myself, Sister Mary, a newborn baby.”
“I- ”
“Tell me the child’s name.”
“I-I don’t know, Sister. He was found wrapped in the sports section of the Trib at a newsstand on State Street. I’d ask him his name, but he’s a tough little cookie. Hasn’t said a word under any of my interrogation.”
The mercury streetlamp behind the Sister alights as she relieves Delaney of his burden and presses the baby against her bosom. “He’s the fifth child this week with no name.” The baby has her same crystal blue eyes. “Officer Delaney, tell me where you were born.”
“Elwood. Indiana, not Illinois. Moved here with my wife for work after the war.”
“Elwood,” she said as the baby cooed. “Yes, that will be perfect. Elwood Joseph Delaney. Thank you, Officer. May the Lord be with you and keep you safe.”
Sister Mary slipped back inside the orphanage as the heavy door shuts quietly behind her, leaving Officer Delaney alone on the doorstep.
Not unlike the birth of another child nearly 2000 years prior, this inn had no room. All the beds were full, and every crib, too. Sister Mary warmed a bottle of formula over the stove, pacing the kitchen as she pondered where the new child would stay. From the pantry there came a clatter. She spun on her heels to see the matter and saw a roly-poly ghost tumble through the door.
After the flour dust settled from the burst burlap sack, Jake found himself caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His left hand, to be precise. He cocked his left brow, looking up into the Sister’s stern face with a silent plea for forgiveness. “I was led astray, Sister!” he exclaimed.
Little Elwood struggled in her arms to see the confectionary commotion. “Is that a new baby?” Jake gathered himself up, leaving puddles of powder as he trod across the floor.
“Jacob, this is Elwood and he has come to live with us here at St. Helen.”
“He can sleep with me in my bed. I got room to share.”
What choice did she have? The bathwater was already frozen out the back door, she had to keep the baby somewhere.
And with that, our brotherhood was born.
Or so we’re told.
None of us remember our own birth or how we came to be. We take the word of those who came before us as the truth. The word of the ones who were there is Gospel. Especially when the word is that of Sister Mary Stigmata.
Follow to part five
Just T for you, a newsletter full of musings from an old person.
Jacklin, Judith and Tino Insana “Blues Brothers: Private” 1980
Saul Alinsky – community activist and political theorist who managed to join the Roman Catholic Church and radical labor unions in common cause of neighborhood conservation and economic reforms.
Bethlehem Candle lit to symbolize faith on the Second Sunday of Advent.