Jim Tasker- Derelicts

"Prostitution and derelicts..." I never knowingly encountered the former, but did have close encounters with derelicts during my 1959-1963 stint as pastor of Boston Nazarene Chapel. The residents of South End neighborhoods treated me well as I knocked on doors, inquiring "Do you know any children around here who don't go to Sunday School?" By the time of my 1959 arrival on the scene, the dedicated labors of the 1952-1959 ENC Evangelistic team members had paved the way, and the reputation of Boston Chapel was known and respected in Boston's notorious South End. Next door Dover Street rooming house operator Gene Wesson -- the powerfully built ex-Marine American Indian -- really liked Boston Chapel's presence, and kept a watchful eye over it.

The most serious problems I encountered were with the derelicts, the drifters --some criminally insane. Once my life was verbally threatened. (That turned out well, with the family becoming good Boston Chapel attenders.) Twice, I was suddenly and violently physically attacked. The first physical attack, I will relate to you in some detail below. The other attack was strange, really strange, and I may never tell it to anyone again.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. I had driven to Boston's main post office to deliver the 200+ bulk mailing of the Chapel bulletin/news letter/calendar/Sunday programs. Stopping by 26 Dover Street to check on the Chapel's readiness for Sunday morn, I decided the dusty central aisle between the pews should be mopped. From the janitor's closet in the back I brought a pail of water and the Boston Chapel mop. Propping the Dover Street doorway open, I applied my best swabbing technique learned from 4 years in the U.S. Navy to making the aisle to the altar look nice and clean. Reaching the altar I paused for a moment, looking at the floor path to the open door and feeling I had done a pretty nice job of mopping up
the dust.

A man in his 30s suddenly stepped in the open doorway and onto my still wet mopping job. "Can I help you," I asked. "Be careful, that's slippery," I added. The man, about my size, mumbled something incoherent. I then noticed his bandaged left wrist, and the drops of blood dripping on our freshly-mopped floor. "You're dripping blood from your bandaged wrist," I said.

Yelling something, he suddenly rushed at me, pummeling me with both his fists. With a fast and firm bear hug, I attempted to pin his arms down, and to move the struggling, very combative, man back up the slippery aisle towards the open door. Prayerfully wrestling him the 2 long blocks down Dover Street to Tremont Street and across to Police Station 9 was quite a physical challenge. I needed heaven's help. There was no human help on the Saturday morning sidewalk anywhere to be seen. The man -- apparently a very mentally disturbed derelict --was hitting me and kicking me and biting me and scratching me all along the way.

After waiting at Tremont for the pedestrian light to change, I successfully got him across to the police station parking lot. I noted that there were 2 policemen sitting in a police car. Dragging my attacker to the police car, I said to the officer on the passenger side "This man attacked me while I was inside Boston Chapel cleaning for tomorrow's services." "Don't put him in here!", the driver-side policeman yelled,

"This is a brand new police car!" He then picked up his police radio microphone, and summoned a paddy wagon.

Both officers sat there in their new police car while the man continued his struggles against my rapidly tiring grip. A paddy wagon slowly backed out of a parking space two spaces away, and pulled up behind the new police car. Two officers from the van took the man from me, and loaded him in the back of the police van. They then drove the paddy wagon van about 15 feet or so around the corner of the police station, and backed it up to the loading dock. I watched as they opened the rear door of the paddy wagon, and brought the man out -- the three disappearing into the police station loading dock's side door.