When Old Joe slid off the Lehigh Railroad box car #822 in Sayre, PA during the Great Depression of 1932, no one was there to greet him.  Not that he expected anyone to.

Old Joe had ridden the rails for nearly eight months, beginning his journey in Santa Fe, New Mexico after he’d lost his job, his home, his wife and children, and now is health.  The easiest thing for Joe, he had reasoned, was to just walk out of their lives.  No matter how hard he’d tried, everything crushed into a morass of failure around him.

Life was hard living in empty boxcars, but Joe wasn’t alone.  Over two million men and 8,000 women rode the rails, stopping off to pick produce in California or picking fruit in Washington State for less than a dollar a day.  The conditions were deplorable and thousands died from malnutrition, from injury and from beatings at the hand of others unwilling to share their meager ration of food.  Many were gone from home months at a time with no contact with their families.  And many were never heard from again.

By the time Old Joe had ridden various railroads and reached our little community in northern Pennsylvania, he was emaciated and very ill.  His only possession was a medium-sized barrel organ held in front of him and supported by a hinged wooden stick that was strapped to the back of the organ.  The strap around his neck would balance the organ, leaving one hand free to turn the crank and the other to steady the organ.  A tin cup on top of the organ or in the hand of a companion (or sometimes a monkey) was used to solicit offerings for his performance.  For awhile Old Joe kept an old monkey but with his itinerant schedule, the monkey was more trouble than it was worth.

Joe was sitting alone beside the railroad tracks when Daddy spotted him. Daddy worked on the railroad and was familiar with the plight of these men from every walk of life reduced to such dire circumstances.

“Sir, can I help you?” Daddy asked, kneeling down beside Old Joe.

“I guess not, unless you have a job for me to do.”

“What is your name?” Daddy asked, noticing the signs of anemia and dehydration around this very sick man.

“Joseph Giordano.  I’m from a little town outside Santa Fe.”

“Joe, you’re a very sick man.  Why don’t I take you home with me, give you some food to build you up and then if you still haven’t found work, you can get back on the trains.”

Daddy reasoned that Joe could sleep in the garage in a cot there since the seven children in our household left little room for visitors. Mother washed Old Joe’s clothes, fed him and suggested he rest on the cot for a few days until he had regained his strength.  Privately, she worried about the safety of her family around this very unkempt man but felt as a Christian she must do all she could to help a man in such obvious need.  We children peeked through the window of the garage and often said hello to Old Joe but he remained to himself.

One day, Daddy walked into the garage to see Joe sitting with his head in his hands.

“Joe,” said Daddy.  “We’re been praying for you.  I believe you’re getting stronger, don’t you think?”

‘Yes, sir.  I appreciate the kindness of your family in taking me in these two weeks.  I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Let me ask you, Joe.  Have you ever asked God to make you a new man through faith in Jesus Christ.”

Joe didn’t respond.

“I don’t want to pry, Joe, but I don’t feel like I can let you go without at least asking you where you stand with your Maker.”

Joe leaned over and picked up his small organ and began wiping it off with his blue railroad handkerchief.  “I used to be a Christian," he said. "I played an accordion in church and my wife and I were faithful to attend Sunday School and church every Sunday.  But then it seemed that, in spite of my faithfulness, God turned His back on me.  Everything I put my hand to do, to make a living for my family, failed.  I feel into deep depression and finally I just walked out one night without saying goodbye to my wife or any of my kids.”

Old Joe wiped his eyes on his sleeves and sunk into a pose so dejected that Daddy went over and sat beside him.

Daddy put his arm around Old Joe’s shoulder and said, “I wonder if you’ve finally reached that ‘turn-around place’ in your life and you’re ready to start over.  Would you like me to pray for you.”

Joe nodded and Daddy prayed that God would reveal His great love for Joe, that Joe would accept forgiveness, and Daddy asked God to give Joe the strength to pray the prayer of repentance and put his life back in God’s hands.  Through a torrent of tears, Joe slid down beside his cot with Daddy at his side and for over an hour poured out all the questions, all the torment, all the failure in his torn life and asked God to make him a new man.  He prayed that his wife and family would be amenable to his returning home, no small thing since he had not contacted them in many months.

After Joe had finished praying and Daddy prayed a prayer of protection covering Joe’s life, Daddy invited Joe inside for supper, knowing that Joe would be on 6:15 Lehigh train heading West in the morning.

After a special supper of all the foods Mother thought Joe would enjoy, Joe invited us into the garage where he played many of the traditional hymns of the faith on his organ while we sang along.  We children clapped and danced, delighted with the music and the knowledge that Old Joe, of whom we’d grown fond, was well enough to return home.

The next morning Daddy gave Old Joe a worn $5 bill and together we formed a circle of friendship to ask God for safe travel for Joe on the trains heading West.

It was months before we heard from Joe again.  But one day a letter arrived, postmarked Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Typewritten on a handsome sheet of office stationery were these words from Joe:

"Thank you, dear Good Samaritans, for taking in a stranger, feeding him and nursing him back to health.  ”Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matthew 25:40)  God indeed prepared my family’s hearts for my return and I was welcomed back as The Prodigal Son.  After a period of restoration, I was invited back to my former place of employment.  I am enclosing a check for $25.  If I know you as well as I think I do, you will likely use it to help someone else in as desperate straits as I had been."

God bless you.

With much appreciation,
Joe

Joseph E. Giordano, Jr.
Attorney At Law
Santa Fe, NM

© Mariane Holbrook ~
Mariane777@bellsouth.com.
http://www.marianholbrook.com

Mariane Holbrook is a retired teacher, an author of two books, a musician and artist. She lives with her husband on coastal North Carolina.