It was a cool, echoing church at night, with more empty pews than full ones, lamplight gleaming on varnished wood, giggles in the choir, the stained glass windows, no longer translucent, shutting out the darkness. At high mass God was the thundering, awe-inspiring Lord of the Universe in vestments of white and gold, but at evening service He was a friend whom one dropped in to visit, God still but God at ease, His shoes and trousers showing below his robes. It was to this God that Mike prayed for Mary, for the children, for himself. About hell's fires and heaven's harps he had opinions of his own, but that God would look after a man who worked hard, took care of his family and always did his best---this could not be doubted. So mike prayed, and God listened. To One more powerful than steel Corporations and General Superintendents Mike spoke in prayer and was sure of a hearing, for in this place he was not a check number or a Hunky laborer, but a man. Into this place, as into the head blower's office, he entered removing his hat, but there the similarity ended. Here he was welcome, here he belonged. Here he spoke in his own tongue; and without fear, without awkwardness, he spoke of himself, his hopes, his troubles, his need of help. And God heard him out. For God knew him by name, knew about Mary and the children, understood how it was with all of them, and had a pretty good idea what kind of person, behind his laborer's clothes and poor English, Mike really was. God, in short, liked him.
The world was always a less unfriendly place and he nearly always walked a little straighter, heartened, protected, when he came out.
From: Out of This Furnace by Thomas Bell, Pittsburgh and London, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1976.
Photo from the United Steel Workers
