The Pocket Watch

By Thomas F. O’Neill 

One morning in 1995, I was living in Maryland and reading our local newspaper. I noticed a newspaper ad asking people to volunteer their time to work with the elderly — people up in age who were unable to get out on their own. I called the telephone number listed in the newspaper and interviewed for the position. The woman who interviewed me told me that I would have to go to New York City for a three-day training program. 

I shared a Motel room with this young man during the training who answered a similar newspaper ad in New Jersey. I found out that he was going to night school to be a lawyer while holding down a full-time job at a Bakery. 

I learned a great deal from the training, and I also enjoyed my time with my new friend and roommate. We went out to a few bars in the evening, and when the training ended on a Friday afternoon, he asked me to come along with him to meet his Great-grandparents. They were living in the Bronx, New York, at the time. 

His Great – Grandparents were Mr. and Mrs. Christi. Mr. Christi was 95 years old, and his wife was 85 years old. They cooked up a storm when we arrived, and the food was out of this world. Mrs. Christi told her Great-Grandson to call next time so that they could prepare something in advance. The Christi’s also insisted that we spend the weekend there with them. 

Mr. Christi was a retired teamster who enjoyed telling stories about his experiences in life. I enjoyed listening to him as he told the stories with the utmost exuberance. I also enjoyed watching the history channel with him on cable television. We watched a documentary on the Kennedys. The Documentary showed a film clip of John Kennedy, who was a U.S. Senator in the 1950s, and his brother Bobby Kennedy asking Jimmy Hoffa, Sr, the former president of the teamsters union, questions at a Senate Hearing; questions like, "did you say I am going to break his back?" and Hoffa kept saying "whose back?" like a little kid being scolded by his parent. In the same film clip, Hoffa said to Robert Kennedy, "I don't know what you’re talking about?" The Kennedys were trying to trip Hoffa up with trick questions. 

Mr. Christi started laughing. He said, “they asked Hoffa every question, but when did you stop beating your wife?" He went on to say, “I have nothing against the teamsters; you can't punish the child for the sins of the father." 

“In those days,” he said, “the teamsters were feared, and the teamsters will never experience that kind of power again. Today the teamsters are a mere shadow compared to Hoffa Senior's, time.” He also said, “The teamsters today are a pretty weak union; they have become a joke.” 

He told us a story about a woman that would stop by the teamster union hall every morning on her way to work. In the 1940s and 1950s, this woman would drop off donuts and make the teamsters a pot of fresh coffee before going to the factory where she was employed. One day, the factory owner told her that she no longer had a job and that a younger girl was replacing her. 

In the 1940s, the factory owner mistreated the girls, forcing himself on them. When this woman resisted the factory owner's advances, the factory owner fired her, and she was fired a few weeks before Christmas in December 1947. 

When Mr. Christi found out what happened to her, he and a bunch of teamsters from other locals waited in the back of a truck. They waited for the factory owner to go to lunch. When the owner was out in front of his factory, Mr. Christi and his merry band of teamsters pulled up in a truck next to the owner and covered him from head to toe with rotten eggs. The owner stood in front of his factory covered with rotten eggs, and all the girls laughed and clapped their hands in total amusement. When the police arrived after the owner called them to the scene, the owner described the assault. The police asked the owner, "Can you describe the eggs that hit you? Were they white eggs? Were some of the eggs brown? Did you notice if any of the eggs had unusual markings? Were the eggs fresh, or were they rotten eggs?" 

After about two weeks of humiliating experiences, the factory owner put two and two together. The fired woman received a knock on her door on Christmas morning from the factory owner, letting her know she was desperately needed at the factory and could report to work the next day. The factory owner treated her with the utmost respect after having two weeks of mischief levied upon him. 

Whenever the other women had problems in the factory, they went to her, and the issues were immediately addressed and solved. He said, "I guess in some way she was an honorary teamster shop-steward in an unofficial capacity." He also said, "Getting that woman her job back is truly what the union business is all about." 

His eyes would light up and sparkle with every word whenever he told stories. You could see the joy in his eyes and smile as he recollected his teamster years. I was able to tell by the manner of his speech how much he missed those days. 

He said, "there was a time when the word teamster meant something -- there was power behind that word. Today everyone concentrates on the bad side of the teamster’s organization. Today the word teamster is a joke, and the Teamsters are no longer powerful." 

He added, “the unions of today had become downsized corporate entities unto themselves, which would appear to be the opposite of when I was a local union President.” 

The Christi’s home had a beautiful fireplace, and I enjoyed watching the wood burn while I listened to them tell me their life story. Mrs. Christi gave me a tall glass of Red Wine, and as I drank the wine, I became more relaxed. The crackling sound of the burning wood, the warm flames, and the wine created a relaxing atmosphere. Mr. Christi said that he used to read books in front of the fireplace when he was my age. But, his eyes are now far too weak for the books. 

He began to reminisce as we sat in front of the warm fire. He told us about how he parachuted into France when he was 43 years old. His tone of voice changed, and a smile came over his face when he began to tell us how he parachuted and landed way off course in France in June of 1944. He landed on top of a chicken coup next to a pigsty. When he landed on the chicken coup, he lost his balance and fell on top of a pig. Both the chickens and the pig made such a commotion that the owner came running out of his home yelling in French with a broom in his hand. The owner thought his chickens were being attacked by his neighbor’s dog, which was also barking at Mr. Christi. When the owner saw Mr. Christi in his American uniform, he got so excited that he grabbed him around the waist and kissed him on his forehead. He then rushed him into his home to clean him up. The problem that Mr. Christi had was that he could not speak a word of French, and he didn't have a clue where he was in France. 

The Paratroopers had little clickers that sounded like Crickets. They clicked the clickers to let the other Paratroopers know they were Americans in the darkness of night. Another problem Mr. Christi faced was every time he clicked his clicker, the neighbor’s dog would go berserk and start barking. The Frenchman who owned the Chicken-coup ran over with his broom to quiet the neighbor’s dog, which upset the neighbor and caused a shoving match between the two Frenchmen. That was until the neighbor saw Mr. Christi in his cleaned-up uniform. The neighbor quickly grabbed his dog and dragged the dog into his house. He then ran back out and kissed Mr. Christi on the forehead. Eventually, Mr. Christi met up with the 101st airborne division, and he made it through the war in one piece. 

“The French were so glad to see us,” he said, “that was also one scary experience landing in France and being lost with the Germans looking for American Paratroopers.” 

He told us that he was proud to have served his country in time of war and of his overall service record. “I fought the Nazis,” he said, “with soldiers in their late teens and early 20s when I was 43 years old.” 

I learned that shortly after he returned home from WW II, he was elected President of his Teamster Local. 

“The history behind the teamster’s movement can teach us a valuable lesson. The lesson to be learned, we are powerful when we stand together. We have the power to change and make right the wrongs in the world. We can make our life and our neighbor's life worth living by helping each other and unifying our efforts towards change for the better. Isn't that what America is all about? Isn't that what our soldiers fought and died for in our country and abroad?” 

He spoke about the Jewish neighborhood he lived in before and after returning home from World War II. When he returned home from the War, he said he was shocked to read about the Nazi concentration camps and the gas ovens in the newspapers. 

“I don’t think people in the United States were aware of what the Nazis were doing to the Jews in Europe,” he said, “I am sure our Government would have done more to help the Jews if our Government had been aware of the Jewish Holocaust.” 

He went on to say, “I was there in Europe fighting the Nazis but completely unaware of the millions of innocent people that died at the hands of the Nazis. Those events,” he said, “could never happen in America.” 

Mrs. Christi then told stories about the people who once gave their neighborhood a rich ethnic character. “Years ago,” she said, “growing up in New York was a great place to live. You and your neighbors not only watched their kids, but we were also truly involved with the entire neighborhood. Our doors were open for everyone, and we fed our kids and our neighbor’s children. There were no video games back then. You played out in the street, and you learned how to get along with others. We never heard of drugs, and people respected one another. People sat out on their porches, and we talked to one another. The kids played stickball every day on our block. They walked to school during the school year, and the police walked and talked to people on our block. There were no gangs and gang wars; it was a much different time and place.” 

The night before I left to return to Maryland, Mr. Christi walked over and removed a picture from his wall. It was a picture of Mr. Christi’s Grandfather, and he took it down so that I could get a better look at what his Grandfather looked like. When he showed me the Picture, he laughed. “My Grandfather,” he said, “changed his name from Christiovage to Christi because no one could pronounce Christiovage.” 

He told me that he could remember watching his Grandfather lying in bed when he was 23 years old. His Grandfather was 83 years old in 1924 and dying. His Grandfather asked his Son (Mr. Christi’s Father) to get him a small Jewelry box that he kept in a drawer. Mr. Christi said that his Grandfather opened it and took out a pocket watch. The watch was given to Mr. Christi’s Grandfather by Mr. Christi’s Great-Grandfather. 

Mr. Christi pulled the watch out of his pocket, “This pocket watch,” he said, “has an engraving inside written in Hebrew, it says, 

“Make time for the ones you love, for there is always time for humanity.” 

With tears in his eyes, he said, “My grandfather died the night he gave me this pocket watch, and his presence had a profound effect on me, but most of all, on our entire family.” 

Early the following day, I left for Maryland, and that was the last contact I had with Mr. and Mrs. Christi. I learned that Mr. Christi passed away in December 2003, and his wife passed away in 2005. I know deep down in my heart that their family is truly blessed for having grown up under their wisdom and love. Their spirit will continue to live on, and their values will continue to be passed down from their children to their children’s children and their children because -- they knew how to tell time and make time for the ones they loved. 

I realize that I, too, will someday be elderly. I would like to be remembered not by the material things that I amassed over the years but by the number of years that I have loved others. 

Over the next seven years, I volunteered my time working with an elderly gentleman who swore that back in 1969 and the early 1970s, he was a liaison Agent between Richard M. Nixon and the CIA. I truly enjoyed driving him around, and he became my tour guide. 

One day he insisted that I drive him to West Virginia so that he could show me John Dean's home up close. John Dean was special counsel to President Nixon during the Nixon Administration. When we pulled up in front of John Dean’s house, my friend told me with anger in his voice, “He (John Dean) is the reason the whole Watergate thing unraveled.” 

My friend was a delightful and colorful character, and I am truly grateful for getting to know him. When I moved back to my hometown of Shenandoah, Pennsylvania, in 2002, I lost contact with him. 

In 2003, after writing this story, I went into a local antique store and bought an antique pocket watch. I had it engraved: 

“Time is not for the urgency - so find delight in the present moment with those you love.” 

I would like to pass the watch on to someone before I die. I realize, however, that pocket watches will most likely be obsolete in the future due to how fast technology is advancing. I also noticed that my pocket watch runs slow, but it is the thought that counts, as the saying goes.

Always with love,

Thomas F. O’Neill

Phone: (800) 272-6464

E-mail: introspective7@hotmail.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/thomasf.oneill.3/