Oh, What a Friend
“Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.” Psalm 51:8 KJV
There is one thing about me that very few people know. I have a minor disability. It’s really not any big deal, but many, who don’t know about it, might wonder why I avoid certain things. Calling it a disability might not be the proper way to describe it. An annoyance might be a better word.
I am right handed. When you are right handed, you come to rely mainly on your right hand. That’s where I have my issue. My right hand doesn’t always operate properly. Most of the time this isn’t a problem.
I love doing things with my hands. Carpentry was one of the things I took during my high school years at the Vo-tech center. My fingerprints can be found on many cabinets and shelves I have built. Plumbing is a trade I learned after high school. And, of course, I write this blog. All these endeavors require one to use his hands.
There is an assortment of issues I have with my right hand. For one, tiny objects cause me a lot of problems. For instance, putting Legos together with my son, when he was younger, and with my grandson, is next to impossible. My fingers, on my right hand, just can’t move in such a manner to make that task easy.
Enjoyable things, like fishing, are also difficult. Putting a hook or sinker on a line, a normal minute task for most, can take me ten or fifteen minutes. Getting a hook out of a fish’s mouth, even one not in very deep, can also take a longer time than most need to spend on it. I enjoy fishing with someone who understands that and helps me out without mentioning it. I also enjoy fishing charters that do all the “little stuff” for you.
The plastic bags in the grocery store usually present problems. Separating two sheets of paper can also cause me frustration. Sometimes I can be holding something between my right thumb and pointer finger, and I completely lose grip of it. It’s like my fingers just stopped working.
When I write, I sometimes have a hard time moving my pen to where it needs to go on the page. The letters “d” and “b” are also tricky. It’s not that I don’t know the difference between the two, I just have a hard time, sometimes, arranging the “stick” on the correct side of the “o” to form one of those letters.
When I’m typing, and start to get going at a pretty good pace, my left hand moves at a normal pace, but my right hand sometimes has a hard time keeping up. Over and over again I have to go back and make corrections.
Complaining is not my intention. Like I said, to me, it is just a minor issue. It’s just that, since I don’t usually even mention it, people sometimes expect me to be able to do some of the things that I used to do, and I just can’t do it like I used to be able to do. Trying to avoid being put in a place where that is even an option, sometimes seems impossible.
It’s strange how some historical items just seem to disappear. They played an important role and now they have just evaporated into thin air. This is one of those historical items that no one really knows where it is at. It has probably just ended up in a scrap heap.
The missing item is a yacht originally named Utoana. It was an iron-hulled, single-screw steam yacht. The Delaware River Iron Ship Building and Engineering Works built the 138 foot yacht in Chester, Pennsylvania. Two boilers powered the yacht which could reach a speed of 13 knots. The ship’s owner was Washington Everett Connor.
The Utoana was sold four years later to Elias Cornelius Benedict. Benedict renamed the yacht Oneida. When Benedict sold it twenty-six years later it was renamed again. The new name for the boat was Adelante. She became a tow boat.
Five years later the Navy took ownership of the yacht and commissioned it as the USS Adelante (SP-765). They used her to set up radio compass stations along the Maine coast. She was also used as a boarding vessel.
Shortly after the Navy took ownership, they decommissioned her one year later. She would be sold again. She was mainly used as a commercial tow boat. A couple of names she went by, during her commercial tow days, were Gully and Salwager. Twenty-one years later, fifty-eight years after she was built, the old ship was abandoned.
No one really knows what happened to the old yacht. Most believe she was sold for scraps. Who knows, if you own a very old piece of metal, you just might own a piece of history.
There is a story in the Bible about a young man. On the side of the road it is really easy to see his despair. He had been beaten to the point that it was even disgusting to look at him, much less help him. What was even more confusing was why someone like him was in such a condition.
Sure, from a religious point of view, you might understand why someone might not agree with him. Prejudice may have played a role, too. He didn’t come from the right upbringing, nor was he from a town that really produced any noteworthy individuals. But was that really a good reason not to come to his aid?
One by one, people passed by him. No one wanted to help. Sympathy was never expressed about his misfortune. Prominent people acted like he was a diseased leper. Then there were those “religious” people whose compassion seemed to evaporate as they neared him. Despite his condition, he never cried out to anybody for any help. That seems to be exactly what he got, no help.
I have a good friend named Dale. Dale probably understands my condition better than anyone. His hands don’t give him issues, at least as far as I know. In fact, I’m not even sure he is even aware of my condition.
Strange thing is that Dale probably doesn’t even think of me as his friend. Dale would not even think I think of him as a good friend. We have never talked about it. Come to think of it, I’m not sure Dale and I have ever even had a conversation.
Dale is a Christian man with a really good heart. He is a family man, too. There aren’t too many people that are going to outwork Dale. A smile seems to be a permanent fixture on his face. If you were looking for someone to hang around, Dale would be an excellent candidate.
My path crossed Dale’s when I was working at one of those big-box hardware stores. At the time, the big-box store was a relatively new concept in our area. When we started working here, Dale and I were among over a hundred people assigned the task of helping set up this new store.
There was a deadline to get the store open, so we worked many long hours. Dale worked in the warehouse and was given the task of getting all the material out on the floor as quickly as possible so people, like me, could get it on the shelf and in overstock above the shelves. Like I said, Dale was very good at his job and he went out of his way to put the pallets where you wanted them.
We had quite a team setting up this store. A pride filled us when we revealed our finished product on our grand opening. I was assigned to the back of the store in the plumbing department. Our department was the first department Dale would enter when he brought out his pallets of material for us to restock our shelves.
One day I was restocking the water heater parts. This section of the plumbing department was the closest section to the plastic curtains Dale would go through as he would enter the store with his pallets. I was on the tallest ladder (a ten to fifteen foot high ladder) in the store because some of the products I needed to restock were very high up on the shelves. By this time those plastic curtains had been run into so many times that they were no longer sheer.
I was on the top step of that ladder as Dale came through those curtains. Dale just clipped the bottom of the ladder. That little bit of force sent me flying to the concrete floor below. Honestly, I don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember the jolt on the ladder. Someone a few rows over said they heard me shout a few words I probably would not use in church on a Sunday morning.
I only remember two things from my time laying on the concrete floor. The first thing I remember is waking up on my stomach. Slowly, I lifted my head off my hand and there was a pool of blood under it. Puzzled, I didn’t realize that the blood I was staring into was mine.
Second, I remember some paramedics surrounding me. They seemed perplexed as to how to get me on the stretcher. Trying to help out, I lifted up a little and rolled over on to the stretcher. I thought they were going to have a heart attack. Being still until they secured me was probably more of what they had in mind. After all, they weren’t sure if I might have suffered some internal injuries, too.
What was the most amazing thing to me is that I didn’t break my nose. My head landed on my right knuckle and shattered that knuckle. In addition to having to reconstruct the knuckle on my right hand, I had to have three layers of stitches on my forehead right above my right eye. Literally, my right hand saved my life.
Someone told me Dale was so distraught. I was also told he came to the hospital to check up on me. Honestly, I don’t even remember being in the hospital. I don’t recall ever seeing Dale again. I’m not sure what happened to him. That in itself makes me a little sad, because I would have assured him that everything was going to be okay and that I really understood that it was just an accident.
The yacht got its Presidential twist when it was owned by Elias Cornelius Benedict. Oneida was her name then. Its story was also one of the best kept Presidential secrets of its time. Even when it was reported by the Philadelphia Press, it was thought so outrageous that no one believed it was true. Of course the President and his staff denied the report, too.
Let’s see how our boat fits into this Presidential story. First, we have to understand what it was like to live in those times. Today, our national debt doesn’t seem to even faze us. We basically just print more money. In the long run, all that does is make the money you currently have worth less.
A long time ago, even before this man became President, our financial security came from the fact that each of our dollars was backed by gold. As you probably realize, gold is not a cheap metal. So the value of the money in your pocket, at that time, would go up or down depending on the value of gold. Since gold is so expensive, there was a limit to how much money a government could make. If you are backing your money with gold, you have to have enough gold to back up your money.
So someone came up with another idea. Why don’t we back up our money with another metal that’s not so expensive? “Hey, how about silver?” became the cry of many. The diehard gold people would have none of that. To sweeten the pot, there was even suggestions of backing some of the money with gold and some of it with silver.
The problem with silver was that foreign nations would not honor it for debt. They wanted gold. A very divided nation was the result of this philosophy. But that was not the only thing that was causing division.
Another issue was one that has resurfaced today. That issue was tariffs. A federal income tax had been tried during the Civil War. Once the Civil War debt had been paid off, the federal income tax had been repealed. Although there were rumblings about bringing that tax back, the tariff was the main method used to gather federal funds.
On the one side of the tariff argument was the fact that if they were lowered, imported items would cost less. People would then either be able to buy more of them or they would save money on the items they did purchase.
The flip side of the argument was that if you lowered the tariffs, countries would be able to build and sell more of their products at the expense of American jobs. Neither side seemed convinced by the other side’s case.
These issues dominated the last few Presidential elections. This President lost the election four years prior because he was pro-gold and favored lower tariffs. His opponent was the opposite. Things weren’t going too well for the other President and in a rematch, four years later, our pro-gold man was elected President.
Things didn’t go too well for our new President, though. Shortly after taking office, a Panic struck our financial system. There was a run on gold which caused a shortage of gold. This Panic would lead to a Depression.
It is right around the time the Panic was about to happen that our yacht comes into the story.
Our President noticed an uncomfortable growth on the roof of his mouth. A sample was taken and it was determined that it was cancerous. It was highly recommended that the President have surgery. Sensing the already nervous mood of the nation, the President didn’t want to startle the nation any more by telling it that their leader was ill. Still, the doctors believed an operation was in order.
The President came up with a very secret plan. He was a very good friend of Elias Cornelius Benedict, the owner of the yacht, Oneida. Benedict had logged many hours on the boat fishing. If they could secretly do the operation on the ship, no one would be the wiser.
How could someone so bruised, and so beaten, like our Bible character, seemingly just be ignored? Wasn’t there someone out there to rescue him? To be beaten, he had to have something worth taking. Even then, victims usually seemed to be able to find allies to stand up for them, or at the very least, help them. He didn’t seem to have anyone.
If he had something, then at some time or another, he must have had friends or at least he must have known a few people. Where were they now? He was on a much traveled road. No one noticed him? Or did they just choose not to notice him? Maybe they didn’t want to get involved. Involvement opened up the possibility that they would come after them, too. With much to live for, why take a chance on this man who, apparently, everyone else was looking down on?
What hurt the most was when his own friends, even his best friend in the whole wide world, chose to walk right by him. Just looking at his bruised face had to touch a nerve. With his eyes so swollen that you could hardly see them, how could you not want to help him? Yet, one by one, that is exactly what they all did.
Yes, there is a story in the Bible of a young man. He was a good man. He went out of his way to help everyone. No logical person could come up with a single reason why he deserved the beating he got. Even after the beating, there could be no justification as to why there was no one there to tend to his wounds. Yet, not one person was willing to risk being near him.
In what is perhaps the saddest story in the entire Bible, there was a young man who had this happen to him. His name was Jesus.
Before Jesus was put on the mock trial that would cost Him His life, He was severely beaten. From what I have read of the Romans at that time, a beating by them was a really severe beating. There would have been scarring, bruising, and swelling. Sometimes it would be so bad that you might not even recognize the person getting the beating. And Jesus hadn’t even gotten to the cross yet.
Yet His best friend, Peter, stood out in the crowd and didn’t even help Him, or stand up for Him. In fact, Peter even denied he even knew Jesus. Peter did this not once, but three times. Where was Peter when Jesus needed him?
But Peter was not alone. The beaten young man wasn’t left in a lonely ditch, but He was nailed to a cross near a well-travelled road for all the passersby to see. Some gawked, some mocked, some stared in disbelief, but none came to His rescue.
Being rescued was never Jesus’ goal. Having people feel sorry for Him would not have made Him feel any better. What Jesus wanted was a personal relationship with the ones who beat Him and put Him on the cross in the first place. Who were these ferocious people? They were us.
Almost every morning, my right hand and I get up really early. We read the newspaper and play our games. Next, we head up to my office. Opening the Bible we read a chapter together. My right hand tries to highlight the verses that touch me that morning. Sometimes we have to try two or three times to get the verse highlighted, but we get there. Then my right hand writes out the verse we highlighted. When we make mistakes, and have to scratch though some things we didn’t do properly, I know God understands that we are trying and that counts more than the appearance.
Next, my right hand and I say a prayer. We write out that prayer. It is usually about a page and a half. I’m glad God isn’t an English teacher, because we both probably wouldn’t be on his honor roll. We always start out with two things, though. First, we call out to him with: “Dear Mighty Father.” Second, we start the actual prayer with the same five words: “Thank You for another day.”
Grover Cleveland was elected President in 1884. Four years later he would lose his reelection bid to Benjamin Harrison. Harrison ran for reelection in 1892, once again against Grover Cleveland. The gold-silver debate and the tariff question were the main issues. The two of them were on opposite sides of both of these issues.
Benjamin Harrison’s term in office didn’t go very well and Grover Cleveland returned to the White House. So far, it is the only time in our history that one man has served two nonconsecutive terms as President. Cleveland is considered the twenty-second and the twenty-fourth President.
Shortly after Cleveland came in office for the second time, the economy was not looking too good. There was a run on gold. Since our money, at the time, was backed by gold, this presented a real problem. The Panic of 1893, which would eventually lead to a depression, was just around the corner.
It was about this time that Cleveland noticed the growth on the roof of his mouth. His doctor determined it was cancerous. An operation was needed to remove the growth. Cleveland didn’t want to cause any more unease to the country’s attitude. So Cleveland devised a plan where he could have the operation without the public knowing.
Cleveland’s good friend, Elias Cornelius Benedict, owned the large yacht Oneida. During a Congressional recess, Cleveland would go on a “vacation.” He would “spend time” with a good friend on his yacht. The yacht would cruise from New York City to Cleveland’s home, Gray Gables, on Buzzards Bay in Massachusetts.
Before Cleveland arrived, four doctors boarded the yacht without anyone even noticing. Coming from different locations and arriving at different times probably aided the charades. When Cleveland boarded the boat, he calmly sat with one of the doctors and smoked a cigar. No one suspected a thing.
The next day the surgery took place. The operation lasted 90 minutes. The doctors removed the tumor, five teeth, and much of the upper left palate and jawbone. Cleveland’s trademark mustache was left untouched. Four days later, Cleveland was dropped off at his home, Gray Gables.
A couple of weeks later, Cleveland was fitted with a vulcanized-rubber prosthesis that plugged the hole in his mouth and restored his normal speaking voice. When the Philadelphia Press ran a story on what happened, no one believed it. Of course, Cleveland and the White House denied it really happened. The public believed their honest President.
It wasn’t until nine years after Cleveland’s death that W.W. Keen broke the embargo and published the account of the “secret” operation account in the Saturday Evening Post. Today, there is no sign of the yacht that it all happened on, though.
Life is like a large yacht. Everyone is excited about its arrival, but often its memories get turned into scraps. Like the friend who encountered great remorse at something awful that he has done, it’s easier to just walk away than to fight for that friendship. The sad thing is that it’s not usually the hurting person that wants the relationship to end.
Prayer: Dear Mighty Father, thank You for another day. Thank You that Jesus has been willing to forgive me for not being the friend I should be to Him. Please give me the strength to do all I can to help restore our relationship. Amen.
