The Time When America Stood Together


by OPOVV, ©2013

(Dec. 18, 2013) — I was working a construction project during my younger years in South Florida when the news came on the radio that a little boy was missing. It was the day the music stopped: Rock ‘n Roll took a back seat to the plight of the child. Nonstop descriptions were broadcast of the age, weight, height and exact wardrobe, including what size shoe, make and color.

A call went out for the last location, time and a plea for some kind, any kind, of help: not from the police, not from anyone, for hundreds of miles to those who were listening to those Miami and Ft. Lauderdale Rock ’n Roll stations. They didn’t collaborate; they just did what was right, needed, necessary, called for, required. They just reported the news: a little boy was kidnapped, taken, stolen, alone, afraid and needed help.

Usually when knock-off time came it was like the start of the Le Mans 24-hour road race: everyone rushed to their vehicles and, five minutes later, after the dust settled, the construction site was as quiet as a church mouse.

Not that day. It was unspoken; nobody said a word. Not one iota of verbal communication took place, but at quitting time, we all gathered in the parking lot. Then we started talking, all at once.

“I’ll go out this way and drive down these roads,” “I’m going that way and drive down the dirt road near the RR tracks.” And so it went. Forty construction guys were going to search until dark, and search we did. Until dark.

That Friday night I related that story with some other guys at the bar, and they said they did the same thing, from other construction sites. Later on I learned that every construction site, from every town, from every county in South Florida, THOUSANDS  of construction workers, spent 5, 6, 7, 8 hours driving up and down backwoods roads, trying to find that little boy.

I said that I had a little trouble seeing on the way home that night, as my search had ended in failure and frustration. The other guys said the same thing. We cried as men cry. Our eyes watered and we soldiered on, praying, yes, praying with all of our heart and soul, that the little boy made it home to his mother and father that night.

As thousands of tired construction workers went to sleep that night, Jesus called that little boy to heaven. But at least we tried. We were a Brotherhood cemented in a common cause.

And that’s how the Call to Arms will come, if it comes. It’ll happen suddenly, with no time to make long, drawn-out elaborate plans. You’ll be called, and you’ll answer just as we construction workers did in South Florida, desperately trying to save a little boy.  But this time you’ll be saving yourself, family and country.

Semper Fi

[Note: FYI, only the construction workers in South Florida took it upon themselves to search until dark. I made extensive inquiries on who and from what job/profession did the same. None did. None.]


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