This story takes us very far back in time. So far back that very few of us can remember, but it’s been a part of our family since the early nineteen hundreds. That was during the period when my grandfather Hyman fled from Russia, came to the United States, settled in Canton, Ohio, opened a saloon and married my grandmother, Anna. It was also the time that he bought a home next to the saloon. It housed his wife and budding family that eventually housed two girls and four boys and an occasional man who was too drunk, when the saloon closed, to be left out on the street.
Hyman had it all figured our. He made the attic stairs sturdy enough to climb. Placed
a mattress with blankets on the floor and supplied everything that could be needed for an overnight stay. The drunken visitors did not please Anna and there were many times that Hyman tried to console her with “It’s just for one night, Anna. Just for one night.” That might have calmed her until he brought a visitor home who would spend three nights.
The visitor was a young man who was obviously addicted to alcohol. He also was soft, caring and very lost. He touched Hyman’s heart so much that when closing time arrived he just couldn’t let the boy wander the streets. He had to take him home knowing that Anna might be angry. How angry? He wasn’t certain until he found out early the third morning.
“You’ve got to stop bringing these people home” she said very loudly that morning “I don’t want anymore of this. The girls are growing up, we don’t need strangers around them and not bad boys like the boy you’ve brought home. I don’t want anymore bad boys in my house.”
Hyman understood her anger but not her remarks. He took her by the shoulders and said firmly, “Anna, that is not a bad boy. There’s no such thing as a bad boy.”
The young man had come down the stairs and was able to hear the last statements. He walked over to Hyman and explained that he would leave and he wanted Hyman to know that he was going home. Back to Omaha. Back to the Priesthood. Back to get help with his addiction so he would be able to live a productive life.
“Thank you, my friend” he said “for all you have done for me” and quietly left the house.
For a long time my grandfather didn’t hear from the young man. Several years passed before the sunny day when he was sitting on the porch and heard the phone ring. Anna called out saying he was wanted on the phone and it was long distance. He hurried inside and picked up the phone. “Hello” he said and the voice on the other line replied “Hello Mr. Bobrof, this is the boy you helped a very long time ago.” “I did?” Hyman questioned and the conversation began. Hyman was reminded about the bed in the attic and the hot cup of coffee in the morning and the things he had done to help the young man.
They spoke for a while with Hyman doing most of the listening. The voice on the line explained that he had returned to the city he had come from. That he spent most of the time helping young, often homeless, boys on the street. He found a house he could use and was able to keep some of the boys there. As time went on there were people who helped and encouraged him to find bigger quarters and more homeless boys. Many offered to help financially.
In time he was able to build large quarters for many boys who would learn by example that life has purpose. That what they learned living with him would serve others as well as themselves. “I must tell you,” he explained to Hyman, “that you were an inspiration for me. Your kindness and concern turned me right around from leaving the priesthood to living the priesthood. It benefited every boy. We now have a big sign as you enter our grounds. Our area is called “Boy’s Town” and our slogan is…
”THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A BAD BOY.’
Father Flannigan did not call again. He didn’t need to. Those last few words contained all the emotions both men felt.
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